Brave Illusions of a Tremendous Communion
by heartsn'minds
Summary: au: Caroline Forbes is an aspiring actress in a relationship with the volatile boxer, Tyler Lockwood. When she disappears one night without leaving a clue, the FBI discover Caroline's clandestine relationship with the older, multibillionaire media mogul, Klaus Mikaelson. [hiatus]
1. Chapter 1

_"Actually, that's my secret - I can't even talk about you to anybody because I don't want any more people to know how wonderful you are."_ - F. Scott Fitzgerald Tender Is The Night

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><p>She disappears on a Tuesday morning but the cops don't realize this until late Wednesday afternoon - informed over the phone by a disturbed Katherine Pierce, a Golden Globe winning film actress. It's not until Saturday evening until the feds are called in and the profilers take up shop does this news hit the headlines - Caroline Forbes, a 22 year old Academy Award nominated actress: missing.<p>

Her apartment - located in Hollywood Hills - is completely spotless, SSA Bonnie Bennett notes. It's bizarre - her glass coffee table has no fingerprints apart from her own stamped on it. Her bookshelves, made of light oak and spotted with souvenirs from her travels, has been untouched. The half pulled out novel, Tender Is The Night, only has her thumb and forefinger prints pressed on either side.

The teapot is the only thing that's a mess, having set off the fire alarm after no one bothered to turn it off. All in all, to the untrained eye, it simply looks like Caroline Forbes up and left, taking with her nothing but a single, crocodile leather suitcase, Kate Spade wallet, and car keys. Her beautiful silver Mercedes-Benz is gone but the black Porsche she typically drives remains in the garage.

That's when the clues begin to pile up. SSA Damon Salvatore's not an idiot and he realizes that a 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300SL is the orgasm child of all vintage car lovers, but come _on_, the car's fucking _old_. If Caroline Forbes was planning to run, she sure as hell wouldn't take a vintage car that neighbors knew she treated as her own unborn child, tending, washing, and waxing the thing nearly every week. He also notes, with sharp, clear blue eyes, that the girl's obviously a bit of an impulse buyer and judging by her vast array of shoes (Jimmy Choo's, Louboutin's, and quirky Giuseppe Zanotti's, which seemed to be her personal favorite), organized by color and length of heel, somewhat neurotic.

It brings a realization that Caroline Forbes, with all her OCD tendencies, wouldn't leave a half pulled out F. Scott Fitzgerald novel on her bookcase and suddenly decide to up and leave. She'd push the novel back into place - unless the book was her last attempt to tell them something before she left.

But then that brings up the question - _who_ would force her to leave her penthouse apartment? Who would suddenly take an interest in (judging by her movie interviews) a willful, charismatic, and utterly charming blonde whose sole aspiration in life is to make a classic movie that'd last the ages (her words, Damon points out). There's so many loose ends here that he isn't surprised when SSA Alaric Saltzman, the man who'd returned to the FBI at Damon's request (plea) after John Gilbert got himself all good and shot, realizes that Caroline Forbes writes down _every damn thing_.

From red carpet events to Hollywood parities just down the block, the girl was a _writer_. She took note of everything and that's when Alaric realizes the utter stupidity of them all - _where in high heaven were the girl's journals_? Her calendars? Sticky notes in the trash? Everything was so damn clean, which suited Caroline's neurotic personality well enough, but dammit, it was _too _clean. It was as if the apartment had been sterilized before she left and the only thing out of place was that one book.

_Tender Is The Night_.

Damon isn't surprised the cops didn't catch on - they're law enforcement officers, not literary students. But he himself went to Princeton University because his father held him at rifle point in their Aspen ski lodge and told him to and he, Damon Salvatore, found Fitzgerald to be a pretty cool guy and wrote a thesis paper that referenced his work, The Beautiful and Damned (and when Todd Bane made a joke about Damon being a sissy, he'd punched the guy hard enough to send him to the ER for seven months and was consequently expelled from Princeton just three days before graduation).

Now, however, the book is just a little more than _referencing_ when it came to this new case.

A wealthy older man. A beautiful actress. A crazy wife.

Hollywood. Fame. Murder.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Bennett?" Damon waltzed over to Barbie's (that's what he's nicknamed her for the sake of keeping a distance) bookshelf.<p>

"What?" the dark skinned profiler demands, busy dusting for prints that Damon knows will result in nothing.

"You still in touch with my brother?"

She turns around, incredulous. "Stefan?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, he's kind of the only brother I've got. Unless you've suddenly uncovered my sordid past?" he mock gasps and she frowns, turns back around, and nods. "So…" Damon trails off, putting on some stupid gloves that make him feel like a gynecologist as he plucks up the book, "you think he's willing to speak to me anytime soon?"

She shrugs. "Doubt it."

"Okay, what if I said it would be really, _really_ helpful to this case?"

Bonnie snorts. "Then I'd say you've become a terrible liar and should think of some new material." she pauses. "Wait, what do you mean?" she turns around again, fingers careful not to touch anything as she eyes Damon and the book he's holding. "What are you doing? Put that back on the shelf! This is no time - " she falters when he gazes back at her, eyes sharp and she forgets that he's not only her dumb fuck friend from high school but he's also her boss.

Fuck, shit, damn.

"I need Stefan." Damon says, a note of finality in his voice.

Bonnie doesn't ask any more questions when Damon slips the book into a zip lock bag and walks away from the crime scene. "Hey!" she finally calls, right as he's about to head into the kitchen, "what's Fitzgerald got to do with this?"

"Despite the fact it's the only thing out of place in this apartment that could pass as an ICU? The content." he replies without looking over his shoulder, wondering if Barbie ate anything that was even semi-processed. "We need a literary expert and who better than my Pulitzer Prize winning brother, hm?"

The dark haired profiler keeps from replying the obvious answer of _he hates your guts because you stole his girlfriend, proposed to her, and then fucking left her for dead._ But it's above her pay grade so she keeps her mouth shut.

* * *

><p>Jeremy Gilbert is the one who trips on a spot of plaster in her study room and cracks his head against cheap plaster.<p>

He's also the one who locates a stash of letters that no one was meant to see.

* * *

><p>"Who the fuck is Nik?" Jeremy grumbles because dammit, his head <em>hurts<em> and he feels somewhat disoriented when he can't tell yellow from orange.

Damon doesn't really give a flying fuck and puts on the stupid gynecologist gloves again as he reaches into the pit in the wall and pulls out another stack of letters.

It's even neatly tied together with a piece of bright red ribbon.

And all of them - each and every single one - is from and to a Nik M.

"Where's Bennett?" Damon demands, pushing Gilbert out of the way as he sticks his head out of the study room. "Bennett my Bennett! Your captain's calling!"

He knows she calls him an ass under her breath but she runs over quickly, heels clicking and hair flying.

He flings the letters into her hand. "Get that to forensics and - actually, fuck it." Damon turns around shoves a few pieces of paper off the girl's nearly pristine desk. Damon notes the traces of plaster powder and realizes that either Blondie suddenly didn't give a fuck about cleaning anymore or her kidnapper was forced into a sudden rush. "Give me the first letter."

Bonnie rifles through the pile as a stumbling Jeremy makes it outside, trying to look for some ice. "Here," she offers, holding a slightly crumpled piece of stationary paper that's faintly scented. "It's dated May 21, 2011. Oldest one in the pile."

Damon gives a nod of thanks and Bonnie knows that's all she's going to get so she keeps her mouth shut.

The dark haired profiler skims the letter briefly, intending to give it to Martin when they returned to the BAU headquarters for a closer look. But now, reading the words sent by Barbie to Nik M, Damon's eyes widen and he realizes, "fuck, we need to find this Nik M."

Bonnie raises a brow. "What's in there? Damon - "

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is that Barbie obviously has a torch for this guy, which means she's been cheating on Bullhead Lockwood which now gives us substantial reason to believe that Lockwood could've gotten mad, come into the apartment and tried to take revenge."

"You and I both know that's a shit theory, Damon." Bonnie argues, "Lockwood's a loose canon; he's impulsive and stupid. He'd leave traces everywhere and he wouldn't be as clever to take Caroline's wallet and a suitcase to make it look like she really left. I mean," she snatches the letter away from Damon, "how do you know this Nik character hasn't kidnapped her?"

Damon grabs the letter back, ignoring the way he looks like a two year old playing tug of war. "Because, Bennett, if you read what she writes, she confides in this guy. She blabs to him about her troubles and how crappy her day was and how she wants to get them grapefruits so he can try her special fucking margarita. If they weren't in a fucking relationship - or maybe this guy is a saint sent from heaven to listen to you females - there is no way a man would willing spend hours writing back to her in a way that enables said woman to respond back with a four page long letter. It just isn't how it works in our brains, Bon-Bon."

Her eyes narrow but she doesn't dispute Damon because when he's in boss mode, he makes sense. "How do you know that he wasn't faking it?"

"I don't." Damon retorts, "which is why the moment we get back we're going to get our pretty little Isobel on the case and she's going to crack down on this Nik character. Whatever happened to Caroline, it's safe to say she's not dead yet. There's too many loose ends and judging by what she's writing to Nik M, he's a cultured guy and he's got money. The man who took her isn't stupid if he's gone to these lengths to make it look like she's just left by herself, but evidently Barbie has a brain if she's left us an obscure ass movie-esque clue through the book. Point is," Damon folded the letter back, "the guy who took her is precise. He's a perfectionist. He wouldn't let anything escape his notice but he's also going to be a little too spot on. He'd torture Blondie gal sure, but he'd keep her alive. He's waiting for something."

"How do you know that?" Bonnie demands, eyebrow cocked. "I mean - "

"Cause of how cheap the plaster was." Jeremy reappears, ice on his head and eyes less glassy than they'd been previously. "This Caroline's a pretty open person and yes, Damon, I do know this from watching interviews of her but only - only! - because my sister makes me watch them with her after movie credits roll." little Gilbert's attempts at saving his dignity amuse Damon more than piss him off so he doesn't interrupt as he continues on.

"She doesn't try to hide much and is a generally happy person who was self admittedly neurotic when it came to organizing. If she was going to hide the letters, she wouldn't crack open her wall and leave behind plaster dust on her floor and desk. It's not in her profile to do so; she'd most likely tuck it away in a safe, one that'd look like a throwback in her room and would be small enough that it could appear to be a simple ornament."

_And that's why I keep the dolt on the team_, Damon remembers.

Bonnie accepts the explanation before Jeremy informs them that Alaric's calling and they need to regroup and debrief. The room will be sealed off and Caroline Forbes's past and files will be unlocked by tech whiz Meredith and the pieces will come together.

(So they hope)

* * *

><p>Klaus Mikaelson doesn't do anything by halves. Nothing. He's abrasive by nature and domineering by nurture; the man is downright possessive of what is his and the truth that he is willing to do just about anything to obtain and keep what he wants is frightening in an awe inspiring way.<p>

Nevertheless, when he learns that _his _girl with her golden hair and ebullient smile is fucking gone, Klaus goes _berserk_. He hires men to tail her friend, the mouthy brunette with the exotic eyes, and drags her kicking and screaming (literally) into his office where he tells her - in an utterly blood chilling cadence - that she _will _call the cops, tell them everything she knows, and then make herself so scarce that even the paparazzi won't be able to fucking find her. She's brave enough to give a snappy retort but not stupid enough to ask for more.

The man other associates call the Wolf in the realm of business and political scheming has a sharper mind than most men, but he's also hotblooded and downright cruel at times. Klaus hires private detectives to ensure that whatever clues the fanciful BAU miss, they will be sure to capture (on pain of torture). He rings up Luka Martin, the spy he'd placed in the bureau, it's time to pay his debts and that so help him, if he doesn't find Caroline, then it'd be _his _head that the FBI would be locating next.

Klaus Mikaelson is a feared man; the one whose face is known by all but its only the _smart _ones who know just how deep the terror of his handsome facade entails.

"A kind word and a gun, brother," Klaus would often say to Elijah, "that is how Capone did it and it worked out rather brilliantly for him. The man's name is remembered to this day." and all agrees - even Elijah - with that statement.

It's only a little blonde with a bit of a sass and whole lot of heart who dares to counteract.

"Capone also suffered from syphilitic dementia and was sentenced to eleven years at Alcatraz because he couldn't keep his tax papers on point," she returned without missing a beat. Her eyes were blue, her dress was white, and Klaus thought for sure she'd make the loveliest dead bride for all the world to see. "If you want your life to parallel his and your empire to crumble when you're 33 then yes, I guess his quote suits you just fine."

"Why all the fire love?" Klaus had returned amusedly, lips curling and eyes - whilst cold - suppressed a small beam of amusement.

(No one else dared interrupt)

She straightened her back and shrugged slightly. "Besides the fact that everyone's been walking on eggshells around you all day since your arrival in the city and I've been pretty much banned from every establishment I like to frequent because you're there? No reason!" she knew it was stupid to loathe him just because of who he is but hey, when Caroline was kicked out of Tiffany's because Media Mogul #1 decided he wanted some diamonds, well dammit, that was fucking _ridiculous_. What was Caroline - five foot six and about a hundred and ten pounds - going to do to him?

Talk him to death?

When Klaus had laughed and Caroline realized she'd blabbed all this out loud, she'd reddened slightly before sighing. "Sorry about that ramble." she apologized, "I didn't mean to get all bitchy about it. I get it, you're an important guy and I guess a little extra security never hurt anybody when they're in the position your in."

Maybe it was the apology, maybe it was the understanding she'd deciphered within the five minutes he'd kept quiet, or maybe it was the intellect that he saw beneath her lovely veneer. Whatever it was, Klaus realized she'd look much prettier with her rosy cheeks and lively voice than with cold veins and chalky skin.

"I understand your frustration all too well," he'd returned after a pause.

Her eyes had widened and Klaus saw that they were delphinium blue - the color of the Sun King's sky. "Really now?" she returned, cadence like a whip beating down on a rose bush. "You know what it's like to be a 19 year old actress who just wants to feel like Audrey Hepburn for a day?" the question was teasing, the tone was light, and Klaus felt something like mirth rush through his veins.

"Decidedly not," he admitted with a slight smile, "but I do understand being denied access to the one thing you want the most." the response was honest, more sincere an answer than anyone could ever hope to receive and he saw that she realized the significance when her lips curled in a slight smile.

"And what's that? A business merger not to your liking?"

"A dance with a beautiful woman with a sharp tongue and eyes like the fleur-de-lis."

It was romantic. It was charming. It was so utterly _strange _that Caroline hadn't know quite what to _say_, but that was all right because he'd plucked the champagne glass from her hand and led her onto the dance floor anyway.

"Alright, that was _so _not a yes from me." she'd protested but the beaming joy of being chosen by a man of his stature did not escape her (nor did the jealous glare from actresses A-list and beyond deter her glee).

Klaus remembered with clarity that he had smiled back at her, lips parting to reveal white teeth and hands tightening around her form. "You certainly didn't run away."

"That would be, _sir_, most unladylike."

"What was it that Plato once said? _Human behavior flows from three sources: desire,_" he eyed her lips and watched her breath hitch, "_emotion_," he'd smirked a little and a breathless laugh escaped her own rosebud mouth, "_and knowledge_." she was a curious woman, Klaus could see, when she'd dared to probe further with a question he'd nonetheless deterred.

She had _spirit_.

"What do you think, love?" he'd asked, eyes sensuous.

"I think," Caroline responded, voice a little breathless, "that you're laying it on a little thick but pat on the back for you knowing Plato."

When Klaus threw his head back and laughed, genuinely and without barbarity, the room shivered but Caroline felt warm in her realization that he'd smiled because of _her_.

The proposal to correspond through letters was one Klaus suggested because he knew her secret love for black and white films and romance. _What could be more romantic than to receive a love letter each week, sweetheart_?

He'd done this because circumstance stood in the way of an actual relationship between the two and Klaus had loose ends he needed to tie up whilst Caroline had felt the need to prove herself to the world before beginning a public relationship with him.

There'd been no objections to the amorous correspondence that had become Klaus's light beam and Caroline's encouragement.

But then Caroline had missed a letter - and then two - and when a secret sweep of her apartment told him everything he needed to know, Klaus _raged_.

His girl was gone, he didn't have a lead, and worst of all, Stefan's impulsive alcoholic of a brother was the lead investigator on her case.

Bloody _brillant_.

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><p><strong>AN: An idea that's been dancing in my head for a while now. I've already started writing chapter two because I really want to have at least ONE finished multichapter fic done in 2015. **

**This fic relies a lot on flashbacks, obscure clues, and profiling a la BAU style. It's also darker than any other story I've ever written and I kinda like it. People will die, Damon will drink, and Klaus will rage. **

**Share the story to share the Klaroline love, please. Repost wherever if you like it! **


	2. Chapter 2

_"The strongest guard is placed at the gateway to nothing. Maybe because the condition of emptiness is too shameful to be divulged."_ - F. Scott Fitzgerald Tender Is The Night

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><p>They regrouped at the BAU; bullpens filled with working government minions (technically for Damon but the elder Salvatore knew better) and white collar hopefuls who wanted to make it big. The team sat at the polished round table for a proper debriefing, considering the case had been thrown at them by Rose right on the tail end of vacation time.<p>

Isobel stood before the six of them, remote in hand and dark eyes obsidian, as she flipped on the flat screen display. "Since Rose had been so _lovely _and gave this case to us without any prior information other than a Youtube link, we have a lot of ground to cover so boss, I'm going to have to ask you to refrain from the lewd comments until after the presentation." her voice was lulling, sweet, and dripping with cheeky dole.

Damon gave a mock salute as Meredith rolls her eyes, fingertips dancing across her computer keys as Isobel began to speak.

"Caroline Forbes, aged 22, was discovered missing by LAPD a week ago. Her friend, Katherine Pierce, had been the one to telephone them after Caroline had missed out on their scheduled brunch at Donovan's." Isobel clicked the remote, allowing a picture of a lovely blonde woman with an almost ethereally lovely countenance to appear on the screen. "The police could find very little from the apartment itself due to the fact that it'd been wiped clean. However, after meeting with Luke Parker, Caroline's friend and makeup artist, it was discovered she suffered from a mild form of obsessive compulsive disorder, ensuring that things would be kept in order most of the time. From Caroline's various friends and associates, the police were able to find nothing that was really missing, apart from what you've already discovered," she nodded towards Damon. "The suitcase that was taken was a carryon and not as roomy as it looks. Believe me, Tumi crocodile leather isn't as satisfying as you think it is."

"Could be said about y - "

"She was also," Isobel cut in, stopping Damon mid-sentence as she flicked the remote, "known to keep in contact with a lot of her old school friends. Generally, she was a very amiable person and," the dark haired woman sneered, "_very _trusting. The crux of the matter lies with the fact that she was reported missing by her friend, Katherine Pierce." Isobel paused, crossing her arms before she faced the team. "I'm not going to go as far as to say that everyone has a modicum of common sense but Caroline lived in an apartment with at least fourteen different residents. And not _one _of them heard the fire alarm go off in her apartment as her tea kettle was left _un_attended on the same morning she disappeared?"

The news jolts something inside Luka as he frowns, eyes skimming the file report with ease before glancing up. "Somebody cleaned the kettle." he announces suddenly, causing Bonnie to frown.

"What?"

Martin's dark brown eyes widen as he gestures to the photograph of Caroline's kitchen. "Look at it, a kettle that's been properly scalded wouldn't look like this," he turns the photograph to the round table, "see how it looks as if its been untouched? It's stainless steel, judging by the forty five degree angled tilt of the metal timer - " Luka points at a pretty, flower shaped object that was, if one strained the eye, brushing behind the teapot, " - and there isn't a hint that the kettle's been completely burnt because somebody had taken apple cider vinegar - a common household vinaigrette dressing and weak acid - to completely clean away the burnt bottom of the pot. This explains why the plaster was scattered all around; the person who planned to abduct Caroline most likely scheduled a timeline for himself. But when the kettle was burnt, he obviously rearranged his entire plan just so he can clean this one kettle. Whatever Caroline had been brewing, the tea type or the brand of tea, it must have been an obvious clue, which is why the abductor decided that he would spend twenty minutes - a statistical average - " he added when Damon raised a brow, "to take care of it."

"Now I know why you were hired." Alaric muttered under his breath as Luka dug through the file to yank out another picture.

"And do you see this here?" he pointed to the picture of Caroline's bookshelf, "Tender Is The Night is the only one that's been pulled out _but_," Luka fumbles around for a beat before Isobel takes pity on him and throws the boy a Sharpie, "thanks," he mutters, cheeks slightly heated at Isobel's smile, "do you see what it's next to? The Great Gatsby."

"Alright, we have a chemistry lesson under our belt, do you plan on giving us a literary one?" Bonnie bites out slightly irritated.

Luka shakes his head, a small smile forming on his lips as he turns to Meredith. "Fell, can you pull up the interview where Caroline gave a tour of her place for TMZ?"

Meredith gave a nod and moments later, a picture of Caroline's bookshelf appeared on the big screen. Standing up, Luka quickly walked over, "zoom in here." he gestured towards an obscure point on the bookshelf, "stop! Wait, see that? There's The Great Gatsby, right where it was when we found it yesterday. And here," he moves his hands three books down, "is To The Lighthouse, written in 1927, just two years after _Gatsby_. Then you have Lady Chatterley's Lover, written in 1928, and then you have Mutiny on the Bounty, written in 1932 and then you finally have Tender Is The Night. Caroline was obviously OCD enough to organize her books by publication year; she wouldn't randomly just take _Tender _and put it beside _Gatsby_. It's wouldn't be in chronological order, she wouldn't allow it."

Isobel's eyes widen as realization dawns on everyone in the room.

"So the abductor is either playing a game with us now or this is Bar - uh, Caroline's attempt at giving us a clue." Damon muses aloud, brow raised.

"But look at the way it's arranged," Jeremy finally points out, reclining in his seat, "you have a book about a guy obsessed with a girl, another one that's an autobiography about a woman suffering from schizophrenia and depression, one about a delusional adulteress, and finally you have a book about giving justice to those who performed a mutiny on their captain. If you line this up with Caroline's supposed cheating on Tyler Lockwood with this Nik M, it fits every book's content."

Damon shook his head. "But if Caroline was being abducted, then this guy had to make sure it looked like she was leaving; he wouldn't do this to play a game with us. He wants her gone and for no one to know - for as long as possible." standing up, Damon's eyes glowed. "This is Barbie's attempt to give us a quick snapshot of what's going on inside her head!"

Alaric frowned. "Barbie?"

"Eh - just, Caroline." Damon finally relented as he turned to Meredith. "Fell, beautiful, how's it going with Caroline's past? Anything beyond Wikipedia?"

The brunette gave a smirk, shaking her head as she finally turned her laptop to face the circle. "I did a little digging into her past and lo and behold, look at what I didn't find." before anyone could protest, Meredith smiled and pressed a few keys, zooming into Caroline's federal file. "This girl is an _upstanding _citizen. Not even a traffic ticket in all her 22 years of living. She is literally what society would consider the perfect example of a tax paying, law abiding resident of the United States. And then," a few clicks into the computer, "you have this." she turns the computer around again to several blurred photographs of Caroline walking around Malibu and the Sunset Strip, "she gets stalked by Enzo Augustine, a local card shark, casino owner of sorts who blows off the law for a good month after Caroline reports him and suddenly," Meredith pulls out a digital copy of Caroline's restraining order, "abides the restraining order, pays the fee, and serves a four year sentence in jail. Four years for stalking a girl."

"So how did he go from storming the law and playing hooky with it to becoming _this_?" Isobel raises a brow right as Meredith grins, turning the computer back to her.

"Not to worry, I did a little more investigation, my friends, and look at what else came up." the flatscreen blacked for a moment before Caroline's files were displayed on the digital boards above the round table.

"She went on a shopping spree?" Jeremy returned, confused by the pricey car payments displayed before them.

Luka blinked, discernment apparent in his features. "She couldn't afford any of this," he states, giving a small smile to a nodding Meredith.

"Exactly! She obviously didn't use her own credit card here, these are just the car payments for a Mercedes-Benz -

"A 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300SL." Damon finishes, barely suppressing an internal groan. "How did I miss it? I knew it made no sense for her to take the car for a sudden road trip but I never thought about how she'd managed to acquire it."

"So either our upstanding citizen has turned into a credit card thief or someone's been paying for her." Alaric notes, scribbling down something in his notepad before looking up. "And if those letters of hers are anything to go by, then it's Nik M whose been her primary benefactor for…two years." he squinted as he stared at the car payment details.

Luka shook his head, smiling. "If he's been providing for her all this time, then that means Nik must have somehow forced Enzo into well…everything." he gestured, "the four years in jail was probably a bribe on Nik's part to the federal courts along with Enzo's signing of the fee; he did all this for her."

"So he's a possessive enigma," Isobel smirked as Damon shot her a once over, the glint in his eyes apparent before she sobered and frowned, turning to face Meredith. "Did you manage to find anything on Nik M?"

The brunette bit her lip, looking slightly uncomfortable now as she pressed a few keys. Two digital documents appeared on the screen.

"This is literally all I could find," the brunette relented, "I scoured every inch of the databases and cracked just about every code you could think of but…this Nik M is so well protected that I'll need CIA coding in order to locate anything personal of his."

Damon closed his eyes, running a hand through his head before sitting back down and crossing his ankle over his knee, contemplating. "So we have a mysterious multibillionaire who obviously has federal connections, and a stalker who is still imprisoned." he smirked a little as his blue eyes found Isobel's. "Isobel, beautiful - "

"Save it, Salvatore. I'll go get my v-neck." she gave a saccharine smile as she pushed a black curl behind her shoulder. "Back to the cells I go."

"It'll be like Thanksgiving for the men down there." Damon returned, giving her a mock toast as Isobel steadfastly ignored him, turning to face Luka instead. "Anyway, while Isobel flirts her way to information, Martin - I'll need you to analyze every aspect of Caroline's penthouse. Take Gilbert with you; Bon-Bon, you'll head down to meet with this Katherine Pierce and you're going to wheedle the information out of her or so help me, I'll do it myself. And when I say do it, I mean _do_ it." Bonnie scoffed as Damon turned to face Alaric, "Ric, you'll be coming with me. We're going to scope out Caroline Forbes's office and work space inside out while you," he turned to Meredith, "are going to bribe your way into the CIA's good graces and get me something - anything - on this Nik M. We can bet that this is at least part of his name considering everything he's written to her in those letters."

"About that," Luka looked up, face somewhat ashier than the usually golden hue it normally was, "they've written in code. I've managed to decipher most of it but - "

Damon shook his head. "Finish the rest later. Scope out the girl's apartment because I'm damn sure that we've missed something. Once you're done, kick Gilbert out so he can interview every person Caroline's ever associated with while you work on those letters, got it?"

Luka gave a nod as Jeremy frowned, repressing the urge to flip off his black haired boss.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Gold stars and coloring books? Get out." Damon ordered as the five profilers grumbled in mock protest before exiting.

Once alone, Damon's snarky countenance dropped before he made his way over to the beverage station.

"We'll find her." Alaric reassured, eyes skimming his notes as Damon returned with a cup of black coffee.

"That's not it, Ric," he confided, voice low.

The older man raised a brow before he underlined a few words. "Tell me or don't tell me but if this girl dies, it'll be on you."

"Has anybody ever told you that you would make an exceptional motivational speaker?"

"To addicts maybe," Alaric snorted, shaking his head before swerving his chair around to catch Damon's eye. "Hurry up, Salvatore. We have a missing Hollywood starlet and Isobel's up to her ears with pushy reporters and tabloid runaways."

Sipping his coffee, Damon ground his teeth as he looked at the projected photograph of Caroline on the digital board. "It's…this Caroline Forbes. Barbie. My brother knows her."

"And this is bad news…?"

"You know I haven't talked to Stefan since Lexi and I'm fairly sure that my brother hasn't exactly been as _upstanding_ a citizen as this Caroline's been."

"What do you mean?"

The blue eyed profiler shook his head. "Stefan's always befriended people that are a little more than shady - "

"He has you for a brother." Alaric snorted, silently chuckling before holding up his hands in resignation at Damon's glare. "Let's face it, you made that one too easy."

Damon ignored him, "look, the point of is that I'm pretty sure Stefan's got some connection to this Nik M if he's kept in touch with Caroline. They were both the artsy kind of people and," Damon shook his head, "he didn't bother to write to me after that last letter…" he trailed off, blowing out a breath of frustration before closing his eyes. "Fuck, Ric, there's something else at work here. I just can't put it together yet."

* * *

><p>Caroline stirred, her vision blurry as she attempted to sit up. Her back scraped against damp stones and she could feel a brassy cold chilling her wrists and ankles as she attempted to shift her legs out from under her.<p>

The space she was in couldn't have been much more than a cobblestone cave, lined with metal bars and a floor of uncleaned gray cement. She felt as if her head was about to split open and her throat was parched; already Caroline knew purple bruises would overtake the paleness of her epidermis - especially on her upper arms and legs.

Hell, Nik hated whenever Caroline scraped her elbow so there was no telling just how furious he would be when he saw her like this: blood cells burst under the skin and gashes raw and red on her lily petal body.

Tired as she was, Caroline had always been an insightful girl; keen on the details because hello! She'd been Miss Mystic Falls four years in a _row_, there was no way she could afford to miss out on the slight variation of color during design meetings with incompetent subordinates. Blinking, Caroline gave a slight tug on her wrists before wincing.

Trying to escape was definitely out; the chains were solid copper and Caroline could already feel her arms aching at her mild attempt to yank herself free. Breathing in, she could taste the saltiness of the air and wondered if she could die of mildew poisoning.

_No, Caroline - think_! She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily before blinking, forcing herself to try and clear her head without any aspirin or water. What would Captain America do? Fuck, what would _Nik _do?

_Observe your surroundings, sweetheart. That's the integral part to a successful merger; take in the insignificant, as they're the very things that can reveal to you a person's whole mindset. _

Well, that'd been Klaus's wise words of advice for playing business magnate but the blonde was fairly sure it'd be applicable to her current situation as well.

_Take in the insignificant, as they're the very things that can reveal to you a person's whole mindset. _

She took a breath and blinked. Obviously she was underground judging by the dampness of the stone wall behind her and the cold, salty air that perfumed the dank labyrinth of a cell she'd been locked into. The darkness made it impossible to see anything beyond a few dark shapes but Caroline knew there were cell bars before her and judging by the jagged shape of her prison, it was most likely a sea cave of some sort.

Biting her lip, she closed her eyes, desperately trying to strain her ears for any hint as to where she could be. After a beat, Caroline could make out hushed words of different volumes. One was pitched higher than the other; it was panicked and sharp whilst the second was lower, colder sounding - like Nik's harsh snarl whenever something strayed from his meticulously planned agenda.

"You truly are insipid to think that any forgiveness would be doled upon you." the lower voice berated, unflinchingly frigid - like a gale of January wind.

"I'm sorry! I couldn't - I just…it would have been too obvious! I had to do _something_!" he pled, "please! Don't tell him - I promise, they won't figure anything out - "

A cruel bark of pitched gurgling escaped the other man. Was that supposed to be a laugh? Caroline pondered, pressing her cheek on the moist stone as she tried to hear his belligerent whisper.

"Won't figure anything else? My, my, someone has been spoon fed ignorance, hm? Klaus Mikaelson is a bastard but he's a relentless bastard and most of all, amadán, he is _intelligent_."

"Wha - no! No, no _please_! Ga - "

The squelching sound of what Caroline dared to believe was cracking bones within ripped flesh was enough to churn her stomach, turn every muscle into ice as she breathed in and out, reminding herself to keep calm. The thump of the body falling down onto the ground was more disquieting when Caroline realized he was indeed one hundred percent _dead_; no more pitiful cries would escape his sobbing mouth.

"Fháil dó amach anseo." the other man's low voice sneered, "burn the body. Make sure it is never seen."

"Yes, sir."

Caroline held her breath when she heard heavy footfalls approaching, could smell something like peppermint and - oh god, the heady tang of rust and blood.

His hot breath fell closer to Caroline as he stood above her and all she could think about was Nik.

Nik's smile. His strong, safe arms wrapped around her in the silent midnight; silk covering their bodies as he murmured old English poems in her ear.

What was the last one he whispered to her?

_you are whatever a moon has always meant/ and whatever a sun will always sing is you_.

E.E. Cummings, Caroline recalled. The secret smile curling in her mind as he chuckled when she protested that he was being "cheesier than a kid themed indoor arcade center".

"Cummings was sensual, love. It's society that has turned his prose into anything but."

She'd wrinkled her nose before rolling over to face him. "Don't you dare say you blame the radio fakers."

"Fakers?"

"Fakers." she'd confirmed. "I don't think they sing but auto tune and plagiarism make them great club songs." she'd grinned and Klaus had kissed her strawberry mouth so very sweetly that Caroline had felt her body turn into stardust and a gentle contentment that only came with falling in love.

The sharp kick to Caroline's bloodied thigh jolted her into reality, causing her parched throat to choke with sharp dry air.

"He'll come for you." the low voiced man muttered. "He's already branded you, daor."

Caroline had never wanted to spit in a man's face as badly as she did, but this bastard came close. The ache of her body prevented her as did the man's next words.

"Death will be quick for you but for him, it will be a brutal torture."

_No_. Caroline willed, _Klaus is better than all of you combined. He'll come for me. He will. _

But until then, Caroline lifted her chin to meet the eye of the pale skinned stranger's before her. Huh. She'd thought - with his low voice and bleeding threats - he would be more…intimidating, but then again, she supposed, she _was _half delirious.

"I'm guessing you'll try to use me as bait, pale face?" she hissed out, proud of herself for having uttered that without choking.

The strange gurgling emitted from the man's throat again as he lowered himself down, now eye level with Caroline. "You are a brave one aren't you?" he murmured in amusement, "you will keep the guards occupied if your screams can resonate to their animalistic side."

Caroline lifted herself into a sitting position, allowing a sharp gasp of pain to escape her lips when she found her back straight and eyes cold. "You wanna try that and see if Klaus will still want to play your game? Touch me and you'll find yourself worse off than your friend over there." she jerked her chin over to where she supposed her kidnapper had died. In truth, Caroline had absolutely no idea what she was talking about or who her kidnapper even was, but she'd be damned if a gang rape was going to be fate.

She was stronger than this, she _was_.

_Beautiful and strong and full of light. _

"You think Klaus will still want you when you're used goods?" the man countered, his voice growing a little hotter with rage and something…something slipped.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. She couldn't tell what it was but his composure seemed off now; fists balled and feet spaced slightly farther apart, like he was a beast on the prowl. But it was his voice, Caroline realized finally, his voice that had changed…

She forced a cocky smile - the one she'd seen Klaus wear so often - onto her bruised face. "And what makes you think I won't slit my own throat when one of your men dares to come near me? My hands are small and your pockets are big; I could just find a stray knife and then you'd lose your bargaining chip, pale face."

_Smack_!

His heavy hand meeting Caroline's jaw had sent her flying a good two feet away from where she'd sat; her head cruelly meeting the cold cement floor as her lip bled that warm, oozing blood into her mouth. His footsteps practically _stomped _closer as Caroline felt her heart accelerate; no one told you what the fear of death truly felt like. All you had to rely on, Caroline realized when she'd first moved to Hollywood, were the cinematic performances of great actors before you.

To make it your own, you improvised equally angst ridden plumes of tears and contortions of the face that would win over audiences.

But now, lying on an unknown floor with the left side of her body numb and cold blood frozen in her mouth, Caroline could feel that the sweat in her palms was all too real. Her heart was a jackrabbit jumping inside her chest as her breathing turned quick and shallow, the realization of crazed eyes staring before her dead body suddenly becoming the only images she could focus on.

_I can't die. Not without seeing Nik one last time, I can't - _

"You stupid, insolent girl!" the man hissed and Caroline held her breath again, forcing herself to _listen_. "Do you really think I could not kill you here with my own bare hands? I let you live as a courtesy, you useless piece of filth! I could crush you here and now and we could still get the great Klaus Mikaelson on his knees, pleading for mercy! Living is nothing but a _blessing _I have SHOWN YOU!" he yells these last two words and the kick to Caroline's stomach is hard enough cause her to see black, her body finally needing rest after the previous torment.

The last things she sees are his hard turquoise eyes, snarling grimace, and pale, pale skin.

_He's Irish_, are the last two words to flit into her head before she loses herself in a warm, enveloping darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: No, don't worry - Caroline's not dead! But here is chapter 2, as promised, and I'll give you three hints as to who Caroline's jackass abuser is. **

**Working on chapter 3 as we speak! Please review and share this story, y'all. Merci, merci, merci!**

**Quick note: I haven't made up my mind as to who the pairings will be (except for a select few that are vital to the story) so if you've got a canon (or crack) ship you really want, please leave a review and tell me! I'll do my best to try and incorporate it in. **


	3. Chapter 3

_"I like France, where everybody thinks he's Napoleon - down here everybody thinks he's Christ."_ - F. Scott Fitzgerald Tender Is The Night

* * *

><p>Jeremy Gilbert loathes how Damon seems to think that just because he's not as brilliant as Martin, savvy as Alaric, sassy as Bonnie, seductive as Isobel, or technologically gifted like Meredith, that he can just be a fucking foot solider.<p>

He doesn't complain about the fact too often because he's the one that gets to see all the cool action, gets to kick down doors and beat the bad guys and save the girl (or guy or kid or elderly grandfather suffering from a bladder infection) and it's pretty rewarding.

But Jeremy's never been the one to crack the case, to find the final clue and piece it together. That's usually always either Luka or Alaric or Damon. They're the big name profilers that get all the glory and credit at the BAU; it's why Rose named Damon unit chief. It's why Luka gets so much leeway with his ramblings and whacky science experiments in the bullpen; it's why Alaric can carry around a vintage 1980s Browning BDA semi-automatic pistol and smoke Cuban cigars indoors.

They've built up fierce reputations as being the cream of the crop when it came to intellect, subtlety, and nuanced behavioral observation.

Jeremy's on the team because he's one hell of a shot and has a black belt in judo. Oh, and Rose really needed someone to teach Luka how to freaking use a gun in order pass the yearly BAU check ups.

He really isn't one to sulk, honestly - he's grateful to Damon for finding and rescuing him away from the Brooklyn streets where he'd been a sickly, wandering addict. He's indebted to the bastard - cocky and conceited as he may be - for saving his life and teaching him how to fucking man up every once in a while.

Overall, Jeremy's grateful for everything Damon's done but dammit, it's been four years and the Italian born agent _still _didn't trust Jeremy with the big clues yet. Hell, Jeremy's pretty amazed he's even being allowed to help scope out the victim's apartment alongside Luka but he also knows the only reason he's here is to ensure that Martin doesn't end up insulting LAPD (like he did back with the Philly cannibal case).

Striding in front of Luka, Jeremy actually feels a bit like an older brother. Luka Martin was only 21 years old but a fucking brilliant prodigy in just about everything he did; he'd graduated from MIT with a Ph.D in chemistry and another one in biology at the age of 18. He possessed an eidetic memory and was masterfully intelligent in every which way - but he'd also been severely mocked for his brilliance, contemplated suicide, and nearly went underground to work for Al Qaeda.

Luka Martin was an exceptional young man and Jeremy felt proud to call him a co-worker and a friend.

But he still wishes that Damon would have enough faith to entrust only _him _with a task every once in a while.

"Hey Jeremy, you alright?" Luka asks; they're climbing up the staircase that leads to Caroline's apartment (the elevator's out of order) and the youngest profiler found Jeremy's silence somewhat disquieting.

He'd grown used to the older man's lazy drawls and ramblings and seeing him so somber worried him.

Could this case really be as difficult as Damon secretly believed it to be? Luka wasn't blind; he'd seen the way their unit chief had looked absolutely wary once they had all filed out of the room; he saw how his left hand twitched and Luka knew Damon's withdrawal symptoms would be kicking in soon enough. A cranky Damon and a silent Jeremy were just about all Luka could take if he also had to deal with the ever intoxicating Isobel Flemming.

Shaking his head, Luka turned to face Jeremy, whose usual carefree smile had appeared on his face again.

"Yeah dude, I'm fine," he shrugged as they'd reached the top floor. "I'm more or less worried that I'll have to go home and brush up on Professor Knoyll's literary lectures but other than that, feeling ready as ever to take on a missing persons case."

Luka gave a soft chuckle, slipping on the rubber gloves and pushing open Caroline's front door. "It's strange how Rose was the one to hand us this case directly, considering there aren't any bodies." he says this somberly as he knows it's the truth before stepping inside.

And he freezes.

"Luka, you o - holy shit." Jeremy's eyes scan the formerly pristine penthouse; everything - from the glass coffee table to the perfectly erect bookshelves - have been torn down. Destroyed to bits with glass shattered and wood chips everywhere; the beautiful cream colored couches have been shredded with what look like knife blades and the whimsical Persian carpets had been stomped and ripped apart by what looked to be a drunk man wielding a chainsaw, if the floors themselves gave any indication. To his right, Jeremy sees that the entire kitchen has been flooded via the sink and that the refrigerator is the only thing left standing.

He doesn't even blink when Luka runs off into Caroline's study; the profiler follows, footsteps slow as he takes in the ruined hallway. The white walls now covered in scruff marks; the paintings knocked off and smashed to the ground, ripped apart by heavy hands. Jeremy knows there's little chance of a fingerprint but what he can be positive of now is that this isn't a simple missing persons case - there was a group of people who performed this carnage in Caroline's apartment and Jeremy's willing to bet his new iPhone 6 that they're also the ones who plotted her sudden kidnapping.

Walking into Caroline's sunny study room, Jeremy isn't too surprised to discover the entire wall had been knocked open to reveal a hollow bookcase. The knick knacks and other quirky personal items of Caroline's had been thrown to the ground and her iMac desktop shoved onto the hardwood floor, its screen shattered.

"Someone realized the same thing we did," Luka says, expression blank. "They must have sent men back here to rectify the assailant's mistake and do away with any clues we might find."

Jeremy nods, eyeing the room warily. "If that's true then they certainly did a right shit job. They've given away their cover; we know now it's an organization doing this. Not rare for a missing persons case involving ransom but very, very rare - almost impossible - if this was a serial killer. They wouldn't hire such a vast array of people since killing is their own perverse pleasure; they get off on it and wouldn't want anyone else to be included." the brunette takes a step back when he realizes he's stepping on a shredded piece of paper. "Whoever did this, they're not looking to kill Caroline. They're looking to get something from her."

Luka doesn't move for a moment but when he does, it's with lightening speed as he walks towards the hollow wall. "It also makes sense why you found this room filled with plaster dust." he turns to look at Jeremy, lips in a faint smile. "They didn't just cover one particular spot, Gilbert - they covered the whole _wall_." he gestures, "look at all these things," Luka picks up a broken potted plant and another picture frame of Caroline and Katherine Pierce. "This was a bookshelf and most likely, the letters had just been left atop there before the assailant realized just how dangerous it was to leave this entire bookshelf standing. So he made sure he had enough time to cover it up but didn't realize that Caroline would leave the kettle on, thus ruining his plans."

"What the hell was in that kettle that was so identifiable that he felt the need to just abandon his plan?" Jeremy wonders aloud, eyebrows furrowed. "There must have been something that was so vital to this guy that he decided he'd rather blow off a preconceived plan, most likely pissing off someone at the top, all to clean a fucking teapot."

The cinnamon skinned profiler is about to respond when he hears a sharp crunch from underneath him. Bending down, Luka plucks up a broken piece of crystal; frowning, the young profiler begins to scan the floor, quickly and quietly plucking up random shards along the wreckage.

"Dude - "

"Hold on," Luka holds up a finger as he finally gathers a little pool of crystal in his hands before walking over to Caroline's ruined desk. "I knew this looked familiar to me but I just couldn't quite recognize it until I saw my foot next to it. The shoes I'm wearing belong to my dad. Vintage," he explains upon seeing Jeremy's puzzled expression. "And this," Luka lifts his hands and Jeremy's eyes widen upon seeing a fragilely put together hummingbird sitting placidly before him, "was the same crystal hummingbird I saw in Thornecastle's auction catalog four and a half months ago. It belonged to an ancient Scandinavian warrior king nicknamed the Hybrid; he'd crafted it alongside a supposed witch as a gift for his beloved, but she passed away before it could be presented. It's been kept at the Viking Ship Museum in Norway since its discovery five centuries ago and I was 87% confident they wouldn't put it out onto the market for at least another eight decades."

Whilst the only legitimate thought going through Jeremy's head at the moment was that Luka read vintage auction catalogs, he couldn't deny the relief upon realizing that something helpful had come out of the unknown organization's temper tantrum. "I'll go ring up Damon now," Jeremy pulled out his cell whilst Luka squatted down again, "be careful, man. These things are fucking sharp."

Luka gives a hum of agreement before his long fingers began plying through the wreckage as Jeremy walked out, dialing Damon's number.

"Tell me you've found something worthy of crying about, Gilbert." Damon's sardonic voice reaches Jeremy's ear full volume and the profiler can almost picture his boss's scowl and glare.

"Sort of. The entire penthouse is wrecked, Damon." he sighed, "whoever kidnapped Caroline must've done a terrible job with the plaster and the people behind the actual event decided it was better to expose themselves as an organization than let us pick up the leftover hints. They're obviously a vengeful bunch who need to keep subordinates in line through example, even if the example could cost them the crime." he rubbed the back of his neck as he heard Damon's frustrated exhale. "But something other than their imperial hierarchy came out of this mess. You remember the wall I fell into?"

"Second best moment of the day."

Jeremy rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, if you stop drooling over Isobel's boobs then listen up, alright? The entire wall was actually a bookcase that the assailant did his best to cover up in the short timespan he had. Whatever was in the kettle was obviously more important to him than any bookshelf so he devoted most of the time to cleaning a teapot. When the new group came to destroy Caroline's penthouse, they must have accidentally knocked out the rest of the plaster and revealed the bookshelf, along with all her collectables."

"Are you going somewhere with this, Gilbert? I've got shit to do and I don't need to hear about every fucking award - "

"She owns a vintage crystal hummingbird figurine that once belonged to a Scandinavian warrior king more than five centuries ago. Now, I don't know a whole fucking lot about that realm of stuff but I'm willing to bet it was damn pricey and probably interesting if Martin's drooling over it too. So, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say this Nik M purchased it. And with a purchase like that, there has to be a paper trail. Agreements that detail the purchase and maybe even other bids or something from others." Jeremy finishes before remembering, "oh, yeah, and the story's supposed to be really poignant too because - "

"Save it," Damon cuts in, "we already know this Nik M's in love with our little Barbie but thanks, Gilbert. The paper trail on the figurine might be dim but it'll at least give Mere a head start so she can stop crying over her computer." he japed lightly before pausing. "Nice job." and the line went dead.

Despite Damon's lack of vocal support, Jeremy knew it was the most he was going to get and hell, he was going to take it.

Jeremy Gilbert may not be the most intelligent member of the group and he may not recognize five hundred year old crystal statues, but he was smart enough to put the pieces together and help lead the team to their first clue.

* * *

><p>Elijah had never heard his brother sound so…unhinged in his 37 years of life so he decided it was worth breaking nearly every speeding law in Malibu to reach Klaus's palatial mansion atop Mikaelson Valley. Driving past the ornate black gates, Elijah knew full well that the sudden disappearance of the young Miss Forbes had shaken his usually unflappable brother but the root cause seemed to go deeper.<p>

And his brother certainly had no shortage of enemies to point fingers at.

"Niklaus," Elijah called, having left the car parked out front for Richard to tend to. "Niklaus?" he wandered past the grand marble foyer and strolled up the stairs, walking towards the east wing before stopping in front of a tall and thickly paneled mahogany door. "Niklaus, are you in there?" he knocked lightly, courtesy overcoming impulse before pushing the door open to find his brother, the infamous Wolf, seated on a couch, surrounded by smashed bottles of liquor. "Isn't this a sight?" the elder Mikaelson raised a brow, "you completely drunk and it's not even," he checked his Rolex, "10 AM. Kol would have a field day with this."

"Don't speak to me Elijah - not in that tone, not now." Klaus's voice was burning with a white hot ire that seemed to freeze into new frost; as if his words were flairs of the sun, now molded into arctic ice for all to touch and be burned by.

The darker haired Mikaelson had always found himself impressed with his brother's restraint but now, eyes skimming the unworthy chaos of his brother's sanctum, Elijah felt nothing but despair.

"Niklaus, sit up for gods sake. Sit up and stop this ridiculous mumbling. Whatever it may be, you not only have Luka Martin feeding you information but those two detectives you hired are the best money can buy. Patience is now your greatest ally. Do not turn it against you."

The blue eyed mogul stared up at his brother, countenance screwed in an expression of ragged despondency that Elijah genuinely feared for his usually nonchalant young sibling's mental health. "Elijah, _he's _taken her."

Elijah's brows furrowed. "He? Niklaus it is far too early in the day for your riddles. Come now - "

"This is no riddle, _brother_. All the signs point to him - all the clues signify his print. I would have to be a blind man not to see it."

A pause.

"Framing Marcel. That's not a new one, brother."

Klaus shrugged, tipping the whiskey into his mouth again; the burn itself was a mere tickle in the back of his throat. "There's only one man who is capable enough to use our supposed rivalry to his advantage. He knows I would have seen through it soon enough but he still played me for a right fool." he spat out the last word with disgust. "Do you know what I find to be most amusing out of this entire situation?"

"Your sense of humor has always leant towards the darker side, Niklaus."

"Damon Salvatore is the lead investigator on my girl's case. If he doesn't drink himself to death first then I'm willing to bet the bloody arse'll fall right into _his_ clutches before he goes dark. We won't be able to find the bastard again if he decides to stop playing games with me and he knows it, Elijah."

The immaculately suited older man pursed his lips, hands in his pockets as he gazed at his younger brother's slumped form. "And do you intend on wallowing away as Caroline is held captive by Vaughn?"

Klaus's eyes glittered with black rage. "Don't - "

"Look at you, Niklaus," Elijah sneered, "sitting here in your misery. You think you have done all you can for the woman you supposedly love? From what I gather, she was nothing more than a passing fancy, and what you now desire above all else is to see revenge doled upon him simply to satisfy your own - "

Before Elijah could breath out another word, Klaus had shot up from his seat and charged at his brother. His hand wrapped around Elijah's throat, slamming his Armani clad back into a maroon velvet wall; Klaus's teeth were bared in an animalistic growl, his cobalt eyes burning with the intensity of wild fire as his hand tightened around his brother's neck.

"Don't you _ever _Elijah, say one word disregarding Caroline. She is worth more than the sun and sea together and I will ensure that this pathetic world burns if it means I can find her again." Klaus suddenly released Elijah, allowing the older man to choke in a gasp of air before his lips curved in what looked to be an almost triumphant smirk.

Walking towards Klaus, Elijah patted his shoulder, shaking his head in wry amusement. "Only the name of one girl could see to it that you revived yourself, brother. Find her. After all you have been through, I too wish to locate Miss Forbes so that I may properly call her my sister-in-law." without another word, the elder Mikaelson walked out of Klaus's disoriented chamber, his steps lighter than they'd previously been as the truth of his younger sibling's feelings towards the blond flooded his mind.

_It looks like the Wolf has fallen in love_. Elijah smirked, shaking his head as he descended down the spiraling staircase. This could either be his brother's saving grace or his ruin if Caroline Forbes were to somehow die beforehand; it would take every contact Elijah had in order to find the girl but he knew that Klaus was relentless and even then, seated on his couch as mournful as a wading river, Elijah could see the glint of determination in Klaus's eye.

_ Best to find the girl then_, Elijah sighed, _before Niklaus truly decides a world in flames in better than one without her_.

* * *

><p>Isobel Flemming was audacious. She was the sharpest edge of a knife blade that only men of reckless caliber dared to even try and tango against; she was a black plume of lace merged with night ruby wine, spilled from a goblet of moonbeams. All in all, Isobel Flemming was a seductive weave of silk, threading around men and women alike with an almost snakelike beauty. Her gleaming gray-blue eyes had been the very things that made a man want to look twice; they sparkled with something beyond the mundane everyday lust and the intrigue within those glittering gems was so great even Damon Salvatore hadn't been able to look away.<p>

Others at the bureau may call Isobel nothing more than a glorified whore, put into her position as media liaison and council because of the unit chief's infatuation with her, but those on the team knew better. It'd take a lot more than a pretty face, a sharp word, and a one night to get Damon Salvatore wrapped around one's finger.

Walking down the linoleum hallway, Isobel kept her head held high as her glossy black waves swayed behind her. The curve of her hips, clothed in a black velvet skirt and the tightness of her long sleeved black v-neck was enough to fluster the basic instincts within any human but for Enzo Augustine, Isobel grimaced, it would have to be the vaudeville performance of a lifetime.

"Name?" the guard outside of Enzo's cell demanded; he was a tall, imposing man with mahogany skin and fierce dark eyes.

Isobel gave him a lazy, mischievous grin. "Communications Liaison, Isobel Flemming." she stuck out her hand whilst the guard, eyes heavy, merely nodded.

"Thirty minutes." he ground out, voice low as his gaze flickered to Isobel. "No more, no less."

She gave a inward roll of her eyes but nodded and smiled; the crazed howls of the media were far more intimidating than the gravelly voice of one attractive prison guard.

Isobel walked down a smaller hallway, its arched ceiling and plain walls gave her the distinct feeling that this room had been built specifically to contain Enzo. The files had hinted the man was half mad; having attempted to commit suicide no less than six times - the last three having transpired within the current year.

It appeared as that the closer Enzo got to his release date, the more panicked he became. She had no doubt this was due to the fact that once the casino boss was set free, he would meet his grizzly end at the hands of Nik M - whoever the hell he might be.

Her pace slowed was she found herself a good three feet away from the cell; there was a panel of clear plastic that separated Enzo's prison from the walkway. Inside, Isobel's sharp eyes caught sight of a bed, soft paper, and a piece of charcoal that the dark haired man was using as a pencil to scribble with.

"Working on a masterpiece to sell once you're released?" Isobel's lulling voice inquired; she stood with her arms crossed, her breasts slightly pushed out, and her long, long legs on full display in her alligator skinned Manolo Blahnik's. She raised a brow as Enzo slowly raised his head; his face, which was handsome to be sure, was angular and sallow from lack of nourishment and sunlight. A light stubble rested over his cheeks and jawline as he was kept away from the shaving equipment "for his own safety"; seated hunched over on the floor, back resting against the metal pole of the bed as he wrote, Enzo's dark eyes were haunted.

Isobel offered a slight smirk. "You're going to need to pause for a moment if you can, Mr. Augustine."

A wintery smile was her response.

"Are you going to give me the cliche of no one's called you Mr. Augustine since you've been locked up?" she half inquired, half mocked; she could already see Enzo was the type of man who liked a strong lady, one with enough intellect in her for a tete a tete to banter with as they walked down some bustling street.

She opened her mouth to say more when the soft paper fell from Enzo's lap and he stood; she raised a brow. The man was around five foot eleven, not as tall as Damon but close enough; he appeared leaner than what he was comfortable with and the slight sag of his prison uniform showed that he'd lost weight since coming in.

"Actually, I must say that I have been called nothing but Mr. Augustine. Terribly dull, I'm afraid." his voice was like the December air, smooth in cadence and rich in its first notes but underneath, Isobel recognized, was a very real coldness that could lash out at any given moment, like a spring storm.

She gave a slight smile. "Then Enzo it is. Or would you prefer Lorenzo?"

He shrugged. "Either would be the polite answer but considering our venue of choice...Enzo will do."

"Well, then, _Enzo_," she smirked, "I have it on good accord that you've been trying to get yourself in the infirmary three times this past year. A grand escape through the ward? Not very original, is it?" she taunted, waiting for a reaction.

The dark haired prisoner's eyes seemed to spark with something that looked like life before the fire was shielded by that same wintery smile again. "Something like it." he returned, "but I suppose you already know the reason as to why I'm here and it isn't, dear lady, for me to regale you with my criminal escapades."

"What I'd like to know is why a casino mob boss like yourself fainted like a little girl when the woman you were stalking pressed charges. Any particular reason you chose a four year sentence instead of two? Or better yet, pled not guilty and made a case you very well could have won?"

He smirked. "Not up to defending your sex today, agent?"

Isobel shrugged. "I'm up for obtaining some answers, Augustine."

"Oh," he mock pouted, feigning a look of hurt. "Here it is with the surnames and the cold voices. Whatever happened to your clever seductions, Isobel?"

She rolled her eyes. "Basic information about me pilfered while they were setting up this thing," her hand flicked towards the floor to ceiling glass window, "isn't a very good intimidation method, Enzo. You'll have to do better than that."

"And what will you do, Miss Flemming, if I refuse? If I allow our meeting to play out like a melodrama that will eventually frustrate your pretty little face and I'll see your walking down that hallway within the next twenty five minutes?" he inquired, a parody of polite questioning, as a razor sharp grin danced on his dry lips. "I don't have to tell you anything I don't wish to. You and I both know that."

"Oh, I know." she hummed in agreement, taking one step closer. "But you will tell me because you don't like that you've been thrown in here, forced into the degrading task of taking your own life, attempt after attempt. Being revived time and time again when you _know_ your time is running out, Mr. Augustine." she paused, licking her painted lips as she watched Enzo's eyes darken with a mixture of fear and longing. "He's out there, waiting to snap your neck because _she's_ gone. And you know how volatile he can become when there is no immediate object for him to take his frustrations out on." Isobel's bluff is as smooth as porcelain and cascading as the waterfalls; she's all cool silk now and Enzo, Isobel notes, looks jarred by her knowledge.

There's something stuck in his throat as his lips part slightly; she knows he's debating on whether or not to continue their verbal spar or to release what he knows. The clenching and unclenching of his left hand is a dead giveaway, Isobel notes; what she says has gotten to him which confirms Martin's theory: Enzo agreed to the restraining order, paid the fine, and left for prison because Nik M told him it'd be in his best interest to do so. And judging by Isobel's educated guess, this Nik M was a violent man who would, as Enzo's blank stare now confirmed, hurt him in a millisecond if Caroline wasn't found.

An out of control multibillionaire who goes around pretending to be some twisted vigilante for his kept woman _does _narrow down the list, Isobel supposes, but not enough.

She needed a name.

"If I tell you," Enzo's low voice - no longer smooth but rough like the storming ocean - felt like a prayer to Isobel. "If I tell you," he repeated again, this time almost pleading, "you'll need to enter into a bargain with me, darling."

Isobel smirked, taking another step closer so that her hand was only a few inches away from the glass. "You're in no position to barter are you now, Mr. Augustine?" she playfully counters; there's a small glint of amusement in his dark eyes but she relents when his lips downturn. "I'll give you something, Enzo and what I'm going to give you will be the only offer you receive. Once released, you'll be put under the protection of the bureau and you will cooperate with us in solving this case. Once Miss Forbes is found, we'll set you on your way and whatever happens to you in that interim will be blood we can wash ourselves clean of."

He doesn't even hesitate when he nods.

"Time is all I need, Miss Flemming." his breath ghosts over the plastic as he leans in closer, his forehead almost brushing against the barrier. "Who you're looking for, Isobel dear, is a man that is an enigma wrapped in a mystery and tied with a violent streak you don't want to cross. He's not afraid to take a stab at people when they're backs on turned; he's the type of man who'll kill babies in their sleep to get what he wants. There's the corporate world that runs in his veins and then there's his own hatred of the actual world breathing down his back, reminding him that blood spilled is no matter. He has allies you could not tear away from him no matter how hard you tried. He has money stashed away in places you'll never find - "

"This is a very nice poem, Mr. Augustine, but I'm on a schedule." Isobel's cool voice interrupts. She knows Enzo is still trying to bide his time so he can give away minimal information and she has to applaud the man for spinning such a pretty sentence on such short notice. "Names. Now."

He exhales lightly, eyes looking into Isobel's. "You'll want to start with a man known as Elijah. He's the lawyer who cleans up the world around _him_."

Isobel grits her teeth. "Duly noted. Now tell me - "

"That's all you'll get from me, darling," there's a disgusting smirk on his lips that Isobel wants to carve off. "Unless you'd be willing to reduce my sentence to tomorrow and still keep up your end of the bargain."

"You're delusional if you think that blessing is in the cards for you, Augustine."

He shrugs, taking a step back away from the glass. "Then I'm afraid you'll flounder, Miss Flemming." his voice is simpering and she feels something akin to satisfaction when she notes his searching eyes.

_He wants me to bargain and plead. _

_Idiot man. _

"You've given away more than enough information." she returns, voice smooth and deceiving as pyrite. "We compiled a list of all possible suspects and we already had a partial name to go on. Elijah Mikaelson, second eldest son of Mikael Mikaelson and Esther Mikaelson. Attended Oxford University and obtained a law degree from Harvard; the chief financial officer of Mikaelson Worldwide Conglomerates. Elder brother to Niklaus Mikaelson, chief executive of MWC and illegal drug cartel profiteer." Isobel takes a step back, smoothing a dark curl. "We didn't need the name from you, _Enzo_. We just needed the confirmation."

And without another word, Isobel flashes him another faux smile before turning on her heel and walking away.

"Wait!" Enzo cries as Isobel continues walking away, pace never slowing. "There's more to it than that, Miss Flemming! You've only gotten half the story and what Klaus hides, he hides so that no one can see. You really think _he_ kidnapped the woman he brought down heaven and hell for?" he calls out, desperate to make the brunette turn around once again.

And Isobel does stop, turning around briefly for a shake of her head. "We know Klaus isn't the one who took her. But those he left out in the cold after cutting their companies apart and taking what he deemed rightfully his? They won't forget his actions and they'll be hunting for revenge."

"And do you know who that enemy is? The one who has never forgotten the slight on Klaus's part?" Enzo continues, closer to the glass now than ever.

Isobel cocks a brow and Enzo's composure returns.

"You don't, do you?" he mocks, "well look this up for me, _darling_ - Kol Mikaelson. And when you find him, she'll be dead."

* * *

><p><strong>JANUARY 20, 2011<strong>

"And so we meet again," Klaus smirks, catching a glimpse of the pretty blonde from two weeks ago that had managed to sneak her way into his thoughts and dreams.

She looked at him, arms laden with shopping bags as they stand three feet from the other; her wearing an expression of utter confusion and him managing (just barely) to suppress a genuine smile.

"What? No four hundred bodyguards at your beck and call today?" Caroline snipes back and knows she shouldn't be as nasty as her tone supposes but she _was _in the middle of retail therapy and retail therapy called for no hot British billionaires with dimples and blue, blue eyes. "Can you move like, two feet to your right?" she gestures as Klaus smirks.

"Love, I do believe you're attempting to direct me right into the middle of a rather busy street." he glances towards the black asphalt road just as a zooming Maserati blurs by in a smear of red and silver.

Caroline rolls her eyes. "Well, I certainly didn't chose the profession of crossing guard for a reason. Now move please. I've got to get to Chanel before they close and I still haven't visited de la Renta yet."

His eyes light up. "You're planning on visiting Oscar's?"

_Of course he knows the actual designer. _

Ignoring the slight (okay, waves) of butterflies in her stomach, Caroline shrugs. "I need a new dress. Or…four." she blushes slightly when Klaus's eyes trail to her already plentiful shopping bags.

"I'm amazed you're even managing to stay upright with all those purchases hanging off of you." he notes lightly, not having moved an inch.

"This is my therapy and you're currently ruining the session." she retorts, arms akimbo as she she glares up at him. "Seriously, can you get out of the way?"

"Why? Are the bags become a bit too heavy for your arms, love?" his voice is low and teasing; playful in a strangely lighthearted manner but Caroline's distracted by his eyes.

They're like the sapphires placed upon a naked royal's body, glittering with sin and desire that weaken Caroline's already shaking legs.

Her pin thin Louboutin's certainly don't help the matter.

"Alright, if you're going to be flirting with me," Caroline marches up to him, ignoring the way his lips tug up in an amused smile as she strings her shopping bags from her arms. "Hands, please." she calls out cheerily, watching with notable glee as Klaus begins to lift up his arms…

…only to pull out a cell phone.

"Wha - "

"James, bring the car around, will you? It seems I've got a beautifully impatient woman on my hands and require the services of Mr. Martin." he hangs up the phone, tucking it into his pocket.

"Ugh, seriously?" Caroline scoffs, "you're not man enough to carry my shopping bags and _of course _you keep a driver with you at all times."

Klaus smirks as he leans in closer, eyes skimming the wide collar of Caroline's chiffon blouse before cobalt locks with delphinium blue. "One," his voice is caressing but stern as he looks into her eyes, "I may fancy you, sweetheart, but make no mistake - I'll never be the man who will dutifully follow his girl around into stores without another to do the heavy lifting."

"Too hard on your hands?" Caroline playfully mocks, almost surprising herself at how flirtatious her tone is.

His eyes glow with satisfaction at her unassuming body, leaning into him as well. "No, love," he murmurs, "only that I prefer to keep my hands occupied on other items of greater worth…such as savoring the sensation of falling lace from skin." his fingertip comes to fix the hem of Caroline's shirt, the warmth radiating through the flimsy material and causing Caroline's entire body to still; her heart pumping blood right to her flushed red cheeks.

"Did you know there's a reason we men love to see a beautiful blush on a woman?" Klaus is so close to Caroline that she can now _feel_ the hum of his body pulsing into hers.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you're going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not."

The bastard grins. "Clever girl. I knew there was a reason you sought me out." she scoffs at his cockiness but stills when his hands begin to skim her collarbone. "Your skin, pearls made into flesh, flushed and hot like the rose of your cheeks gives a man the subconscious memory, love, of ripped silk sheets, tangled limbs, and your pretty mouth crying out for _more_. You look so utterly sated and wanton with that blush on you that every room can feel like ours, if you'd just let it."

Her breathing is shallow and hot and the smell of her - sunshine and lavender - causes Klaus to force his own body to retain some modicum of restraint.

It wouldn't do to ravish here right then and there.

Suddenly, Caroline takes a step back; her cheeks are still rosy and her breathing still harsh but her blue eyes are clearer now and she looks somewhat panicked. "I've got to get going." she declares, spinning on her heels before turning around, a faint smile on her lips. "Tell your driver not to be such a slow ass next time, alright?" and then she runs into the violet evening, leaving Klaus standing there with something that felt like loss and triumph intermingled within his body.

* * *

><p><strong>HOLLYWOODNOW! MAGAZINE<strong>: Exclusive One on One with Rising Star, Caroline Forbes

**HM:** Alright, I'm pretty sure your entire fan base screamed loud enough for all of North America to hear the news, but could you just tell us one last time? Sorry for the repetitive nature of the questions!

**CF:** [laughs] _Not a problem! I'm very, very excited and just as happy as my fans when I say that I will be in Aaron Whitmore's film 'In The Blue'. I can't believe that I get to be a part of this amazing, amazing team of actors and crew members and be able work alongside Aaron Whitmore. I mean, I'm doing everything I can to keep from bouncing up and down in my seat like a deranged bunny on five hour energy. It's just thrilling._

**HM:** Well we truly cannot wait to see you in this film but, quick question that I'm sure everyone is dying to know before we discuss more of 'In The Blue': are you and Tyler Lockwood engaged? The papers were spinning such stories and…?

**CF:** _Oh, no, no, no. I don't know how people can come up with this stuff but Tyler and I are most certainly not engaged. He's a wonderful guy and I'm very happy to have met him._

**HM:** Do you see marriage in your future to Tyler?

**CF:** _Oh yes, I definitely see myself getting married and having a family after I've achieved all I can achieve in this business. I would love to walk down the aisle and be able to just commit myself to one man and spend the rest of my life with him. I'm pretty sure all us little girls spent some time locked away in our rooms planning our own Barbie wedding_ [laughs].

**HM:** But what do you think about Tyler's relationship with model turned actress Hayley Marshall? There were rumors abounding that you were not happy when he brought her home.

**CF: **_I think the tabloids just take one picture and try to turn it into something that people will want to buy and gasp over. Really, Hayley's known Tyler for a really long time and the two of them are very, very close friends. I'm not the type of girlfriend who'd condone him for spending time with a childhood friend, you know? I mean, I hang out with male friends all the time and Tyler doesn't really mind too much. I just think that when the picture of me was taken, Hayley had been standing there and I was walking out to my car so the paparazzi automatically made it out to be something that was much bigger than the truth of it._

**HM:** Last question on this topic and I swear we'll move on - we heard from a little birdie somewhere that Oscar de la Renta had designed a dress called the Princess Carolina and cited a woman that sounded _very _much like you as his inspiration. What do you say to that?

**CF:** [laughs] _Oh, god, I knew that'd get out sooner or later!_…[I was]_ introduced to Oscar by a specific someone who had been…not as arrogant as he could have been and allowed Oscar and myself to just bond over some things. And before I left, he'd told me that he would like to do something with our conversation and I had no idea it was to make a dress out of it. You can't imagine how many happy tears I inwardly cried and my incessant yapping away on Twitter about it all._

* * *

><p><strong>*ONE NEW MESSAGE<strong>*****

Meredith groaned as she opened a new text from Damon, fingers still flying over her keyboard in an attempt to decipher the latest security block on Klaus Mikaelson's file.

**DAMON:** Do a quick background sweep on a guy named Elijah Mikaelson. Sexy found out a good clue or two from Enzo-boy down in the brigs.

The brunette scoffed at their boss's obvious flirtations with the dark haired communications liaison. Damon was either ignorant enough to think that Isobel didn't know what happened between Damon, Lexi, and Elena or he just didn't give a flying fuck. Either way, the two saucy profilers had been dancing around that thin line between to have and have not for over four years and it was making everyone puke in their mouths a little bit every time they came one step closer to it.

Flittering over cyberspace, Meredith found nothing about Elijah that was clue worthy or even shock worthy. The guy seemed to be as clean pressed as his hand tailored Italian suits and as sharp as his Harvard law degree. Older brother to Klaus, president of the Mikaelson & Mikaelson law firm; won a rather dubious case involving a German hacker and a lawsuit that was more expensive than California's gross domestic product.

He was the epitome of icy cool and Meredith doubted -

"Holy mother fucker. Oh, holy mother _fucker_." the brunette felt as if she'd been punched in the chest when she saw what had suddenly popped up before her.

Elijah Mikaelson: a secret Indonesian marriage certificate to a T. Petrova? What the _fuck_?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Wow, I stuffed a whole lot of things into this chapter but hey-o, I actually really, really like writing this fic so I hope you all enjoy reading it too. (If not, Kol will be in the next chapter...this is outright bribery to keep y'all reading but oh well) **

**And to answer one reviewer's question: no, Elena and Katherine do not look alike. When you think of Elena, go with Nina Dobrev but when you think of Katherine, think of a Eva Green/Mila Kunis mixture living life like Edie Sedgwick. **

**Tell me: would you guys prefer longer chapters with, consequently, longer waits or shorter chapters added weekly? **

**Review. Share. Inquire. **


	4. Chapter 4

_"Strange children should smile at each other and say, "Let's play.""_ - F. Scott Fitzgerald Tender Is The Night

* * *

><p>"Alright, here's what we'll do. I'll tie her up, you threaten her with some of your cool knife throwing tricks, she balks, we move in, and within fifteen minutes, we'll have bust open Katherine Pierce." Damon offered, standing behind the one way interrogation room, arms crossed as a brunette actress - still dressed in her black silk negligee and stilettos - glared angrily at the door Bonnie just walked out of.<p>

"Damon, I swear to god I _will _snap your neck if that is seriously your plan." Bonnie huffed, sitting in a chair as a medic bandaged the gash on her head. Her clothes had been stained with what smelled like spilled vodka; it'd been enough for Jeremy to jokingly inquire if Bonnie had been to see Katherine or found herself the star of the Bunny Ranch.

In turn, Bonnie had punched him so hard that the hapless fellow had been sent stumbling back, knocking over a tray of Alaric's prized Cuban cigars. Taking pity on the boy, Damon had allowed Jeremy the honor of helping Isobel sort out the newly pieced files of Elijah's revelation alongside Meredith whilst Luka finished deciphering Klaus and Caroline's letters. For whatever reason, calling the psychopath 'Nik' just seemed far too intimate for Damon's tastes and Niklaus was a bit of a mouthful, so Klaus he was.

For the time being.

Turning around, Damon gave a small nod as Alaric stood up, boots dusty and whiskey on his breath. "Playing the boozy one is your gift, Damon," the profiler rolled his neck before walking towards the door, "Meredith got everything wired?"

"You're all set, Ric. Just get in there and see what you can weasel out of her."

Alaric gave him a wry smile before strolling into the interrogation room, immediately catching Katherine's eye. She immediately pressed her arms closer to her sides, crossing her legs in what appeared to be an act of seduction but, Damon smirked, was merely a natural (though futile) human instinct to draw herself away from the situation she was in.

"Katherine Pierce." Alaric plopped down a metal chair opposite her with a slight grimace. "They've really blasted the AC on. Don't know how you're not cold." he mused lightly, shrugging on his black Michael Kors wool coat. He blew into his hands as Damon watched goosebumps arise on Katherine's skin, saw her jaw clench as she attempted to starve off the shivering. "You must be an amphibian." Ric shook his head and stuck his hands into his pockets. "Well, why don't we just move on? Sooner we finish this, sooner I can get some soup."

"Yes, _let's_." Katherine sneered, lip curving up into something that wasn't quite a smile but was far too pretty to be considered a grimace.

Alaric pulled out a plain manila folder from the inside of his jacket, opening it with exaggerated ease. "You've been friends with Caroline Forbes for over four years. Almost immediately after she came to Hollywood."

Katherine nodded, brown curls bobbing up and down her back. "We met at a mutual friend's house. S - she knew him," she bit down on her lip to contain the shivering, "since they were kids. He helped her land a small role in h - her first film."

"And you wouldn't happen to remember the name of this mutual friend, would you?"

Katherine glared, eyes calculating as a stock broker's. "Evidently." she bit out, full lips downturned. "Easton val Fetars." she managed, goosebumps prickling.

Alaric nodded, faux understanding washing over his features. "And just reiterate, for the sake of my old age, the two of them grew up together?" she nodded as Alaric's eyes narrowed. "So this Easton val Fetars - spelled F - E - T - A - R -S right?"

"Yes." Katherine ground out, biting down hard on her bottom lip as she crossed her arms. "Fetars."

"And they grew up together."

"_Yes. _They grew up together. As in, same neighborhood and within a walkable distance that only small town parents entrust their children to embark on after making sure they're all decked out with whistles and water bottles." she snarled back, clearly irritated.

The older profiler nodded, leaning back in his seat. "So it wouldn't be wrong for me to assume that this Easton val Fetars lived in Lexington, Virginia?"

Katherine froze (literally) before swallowing. "Yes." she returned, voice strangely calm. "They grew up together. In Lexington. As children. And then Caroline left for Hollywood to follow her dreams." it was a cheap trick but she'd try to withhold as much information from her asshole interrogator as possible before her lawyer got here.

The agent seemed to have other ideas as he wrinkled his nose, looking more pissed off than serious.

"Yeah, but this Easton val Fetars must have left before she did if he was able to build up a reputation in Hollywood before Miss Forbes arrived. So, this man you speak of so fondly of must have a credible age gap with Miss Forbes if he was able to depart from such a small town with little pomp and flair."

"Why are you so interested in Easton? Aren't you supposed to be out there looking for my friend and not sitting here like a bundled orca trying to confirm something I've repeatedly stated four times already?" her tongue was sharp, her face was lovely, and her impatience was her downfall.

Alaric shrugged again, crossing his ankle over his knee as he leaned back on the metal chair. "We're profilers, Miss Pierce, not headless chickens running around looking for false leads. We need to map out every detail of Caroline Forbes's life if we're to locate the organization that kidnapped her."

Katherine's lovely brown eyes widened. "Organization?" her voice sounded shaky and Damon was unsure whether it was from the cold or the realization that something larger was at play.

She bit down on her lip, hard, before lifting her gaze to meet Alaric's.

For the first time, the older profiler could see something in them that looked like genuine confusion. "You're telling me that Caroline's kidnapping was planned? It wasn't a spur of the moment thing?"

He shook his head. "No, it's been too meticulously designed to be a simple break and enter. There was a lot of thought that went into it and the fact that the assailant who worked for the organization took time out of this schedule to clean Caroline's teapot…"

Katherine frowned. "He cleaned Care's teapot?" she sounded incredulous as she arched one perfectly plucked brow. "You're kidding me. How do you know it wasn't Caroline being her neurotic self again? I mean, I love her and everything but you begin to pick up on the fact that she's a perfectionist about ten minutes into meeting her."

Alaric's hazy green eyes were blank but the slight tug on his lips confirmed to Damon that Katherine was playing right into his hands. "The crime scene suggests that if there had been a struggle, it was quickly rectified and cleaned up by the kidnapper, indicating that he must have been physically imposing, able to knock Caroline down - out cold, mind - clean up the mess and then carry her out of there without anyone seeing or suspecting anything." he leaned forward, his lackadaisical air gone. "Miss Pierce, you know this man that Caroline has come into contact with. You've met him; he may not have made a great impression on you or any impression at all but you know him. You've seen him."

She arched a brow, frustration etched on her delicate features as she squeezed her arms tighter. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't - "

"You know this man, Katherine. You _do_. He's going to be tall, strong in the physical sense. And he wouldn't have been particularly engaging or charming; he may have bumbled around a bit, tried to flirt but failed. This is exactly why he had to knock Caroline unconscious because he knew he couldn't charm her into leaving. In fact, the only thing he might have going for him would be his physical presence, which is certainly going to catch someone's eye but only for a brief while. He'll have joined this organization because he wants to be recognized, to be noticed and given respect. He's been looked down all his life and no doubt, you most likely ignored him or unintentionally gave him a slight yourself when you two met."

Alaric stood up abruptly, the metal chair skidding a good three feet back as he pressed his palms on the table, eyes zeroing into Katherine's dark ones. "However, he can take orders. He's smart enough for that. When you met him he'll have been nimble enough to weave through the crowds. This man was able to single handedly execute Caroline's kidnapping. He may not be the most intelligent man in the room but he is certainly not useless if given the chance."

"I don't know who you're talking about!" Katherine finally hissed out, patience gone. "I've met a lot of people in my life and not every single one of them is going to be recorded in my memory bank."

"He would have tried to flirt with you, you would have ignored him. He would have originally caught your eye, you might have thought of him as a decent one night stand but then as you talked him, you realized he wasn't worth it. He wasn't capable of carrying on a tete a tete flirtation, the ones you so enjoy - " Katherine's face flushed but her expression was unwavering, " - he would have made a mistake and either insulted you or - "

"The only person I can think of that's made enough of a blunder for me to give up if I was drunk and horny is probably this one overly aggressive asshole I met at the Hollywood Palm." Katherine ran a hand through her hair, nerves frazzled and tension decreasing from her shoulders.

Alaric relaxed somewhat as he walked over to Katherine, "tell me about him."

She shook her head in clear exasperation, the anger having stopped her shivering as her hands fell atop the table. "I don't know. It was…a few months ago, I think. Maybe three or four? Caroline and I were out at the Hollywood Palm to celebrate the completion of my new movie, 'The Red and The Black'. We'd been partying with a couple of people - "

"Names, Miss Pierce."

Her eyes narrowed at his commanding tone, hinting at her riotous nature, but she pressed her lips shut before sighing. "Matt Donovan, Thierry Vanchure, Kol Mikaelson, and Tyler Lockwood."

"A procession of men." Alaric clicked his tongue, seemingly amused. "And what were they to you? Escorts? Friends? Drunk acquaintances?"

Katherine glared at him though there was less venom in it and more curiosity. "Matt is Caroline's childhood friend and he's become something of a Hollywood sober coach," she chuckled, "he was our designated drunk driver in case anything went wrong. Thierry's a film producer who has something of a crush on me - " Damon could almost hear Alaric snort in derision, " - Kol is a mutual friend and Tyler is Caroline's boyfriend. Anything else?"

Alaric shook his head, seemingly satisfied. Damon didn't miss the way Meredith's fingers had ceased their decoding and entered in the names of Katherine and Caroline's acquaintances with expert ease.

"Find anything yet, Fell?" Damon muttered under his breath.

The brunette shook her head. "Not yet, I'll alert you when I do."

Damon gave a slight nod, focusing his attentions back on the girl and Alaric.

She was most likely using a pseudonym, the unit chief surmised; her skin was a tinted golden hue that could only have come from Eastern Europe. But considering her delicate features, her dark hair and eyes, along with the slight lilt of her accent whenever she said 'something' (harsher on the 's' and lighter on the 'ing'), Damon figured she was either from Romania or Bulgaria.

Meredith's records for Katherine Pierce showed that she had indeed immigrated to this country at the age of fourteen, though all previous accounts had been wiped clean. The CIA encryptions had enabled the techie to decipher that Katherine had a bit of a criminal past with a hit and run on her record from New York and another for drug possession at age 21 in Florida.

The girl had certainly been connected - however lightly - to the underground realm of criminals and while she'd managed to banish it (crudely, Meredith noted, with large, gaping holes in her profile), she'd always kept in touch with a few. Such as Kol Mikaelson, a brother of Klaus's whose file they already had.

The slam of Alaric's hand against the metal table quickly diverted Damon's attentions back to the interrogation, watching as Katherine turned away from the window - almost slyly - and the older profiler walked out. The gust of cold air that blew into the observational room caused everyone to look up.

If anything, Alaric appeared to be the perfect mixture of fury and discovery.

"She claims she doesn't remember the name but that's a load of bullshit. She probably does but is afraid that she might get it wrong - too strong a sense of pride. She's gone her whole life manipulating others so one wrong word would look amateurish on her part." he tugged off his wool coat, throwing the black heap in a corner. "And that Easton val Fetars? Get Martin to work on that pathetic anagram _immediately_." Alaric spat out, marching over to Meredith. "Compile a list for me, Fell, of anyone who has served a two year sentence in prison. Domestic charges against a woman would be your best bet."

Meredith didn't question her boss's orders and quickly began to work as Damon walked over.

"The guy she and Caroline had met at the club had grabbed Katherine's upper arm, tried to pull her back to him and when he did that, Matt Donovan stepped in and ushered the girls out." Alaric explained as the two began to make their way down to the evidence room, "now this Thierry Vanchure needs an intense background check ASAP and so does Kol Mikaelson. We'll need to go deeper on him than anyone else because he's the most open character we have that's got a connection to Klaus."

Damon snorted. "All those properties in Las Vegas and every other gambling city, you'd think he'd try to keep a lower profile from the FBI."

"Doubt it. He's been born into money and he's good at business. Why bother to keep a low profile when your older brother owns the majority of Manhattan?" Alaric slammed open the door to the glass walled room, storming over to the evidence board. "I can't believe we didn't piece it together earlier, Damon. Mikaelson Worldwide Conglomerates handles everything from finance to media to oil in the Middle East and if we can't trace Klaus Mikaelson by his personal records, the company records will be our next best bet." turning around, Damon saw his old friend's eyes glow with triumph. "He's good at hiding what he does but not even Klaus can configure away the records, lawsuits, and papers on an entire corporation that spans six continents."

The black haired unit chief smirked, clapping Alaric on the back - the closest to true praise anyone could hope to receive. "Corporation files are a couple of units down in the white collar crime division. They've got to have at least one dark spot - "

" - and once we find it, we can track MWC and from there on, Klaus." Alaric finished, facing Damon again.

The younger man stuck out his tongue in such a childish manner that Alaric's tense countenance finally relaxed. "You stole my line, Ric. Such a glory hog." Damon mocked as the older profiler chuckled, shaking his head.

"Let's get to work, Salvatore. Time is definitely of the essence now."

* * *

><p>Luka sat in his office holding a single piece of paper with a bizarrely stated name written in bold print.<p>

EASTON VAL FETARS

Damon had pulled him off from reading Caroline and Klaus's letters to inform him that the second he finished deciphering this anagram, he was to go back to Caroline's penthouse and dig out her journals because "of _course _she'd keep journals, Luka. She's a neurotic with mild OCD and considering she blatantly said in one interview she writes everything down..." his unit chief had trailed off, leaving Luka alone.

He squinted, mentally putting the letters in alphabetical order.

AAAEEFLNORSSTTV

Luka frowned. That looked...vaguely familiar...

What was the name of Damon's brother? Steven? No - _Stefan_. And just like that, the letters slowly began to rearrange themselves, weaving over and about until...

STEFAN SALVATORE

He blinked, surprised. Luka_ really_ couldn't believe that he was stuck with informing Damon that his younger brother was connected to none other than Klaus Mikaelson.

* * *

><p><strong>MAY 4, 2013<strong>

She was glorious in her fury; eyes bright blue and cheeks flushed with a vice Klaus had seen many a-time as the look of satisfaction. Now rage was the only thing that flowed through her veins.

"What's wrong, _sweetheart_?" Klaus sneered, eyes cold as he yanked on his pants, buckling that black Saint Laurent belt with such speed that Caroline felt less than a one night stand. "I thought you were far too _busy _for me."

She gawked at him, mouth open in shock and fingers itching to pluck up the nearest object to smash and throw. "What the _fuck _are you talking about?" she half shrieks because she's the wronged party here, not him.

He doesn't get to play victim with his cold eyes and awful sneer and try as she might, Caroline can see hurt radiating underneath all that icy indifference.

"You told me you didn't want to see me, love. I listened and moved on. You should feel happy that I left you be the moment you asked me to." Klaus saunters away from her, heading towards that ornate liquor cabinet of his, sight already set on a lacquered Hirsch bourbon.

He can't make it five steps before he hears Caroline's heels coming after him, marching furiously along the tiled floor that Klaus can already envision his girl's face, burning with anger and determination. Her delphinium eyes glowing and every movement so strong and sure that he doesn't know why he allows himself this one moment of weakness - but he does.

He turns around.

And what he sees breaks his heart. Makes him wish he could strip the flesh from his skin and burn it upon the fiery solar surface of the sun.

Not a single tear falls from her eyes but Klaus sees every broken promise - every hope of their future together - shattered on wet pavement before she slaps him across the face.

"I told you that I couldn't see you for one night, I didn't say I was moving to the fucking outskirts of the Sahara desert, never to return." her voice is a furious, shaky whisper. It's sturdy and biting and shaming Klaus from his shredded heart all the way down to his dirtied hands. "Am I…was I really that easy to move on from?"

The pain in her voice makes him feel strange. Like his heart has vanished and all that's left is a hollow cavity; his stomach burns with a bitter acid that only comes from the realization of a mistake ignored twice over. Had Elijah, Rebekah, or Kol dared to speak to him in such a manner, Klaus would have threatened and screamed and raged. But before Caroline, with her unclouded eyes and fragmented breathing, Klaus feels like a wretched dog, forced to eat the scraps thrown down to him by those deities of truth.

"I didn't realize I'd mean so little to you that a replacement could be found a phone call away." Caroline's gaze drops down to the floor, eyes fixed on the gold of her Blahnik's, which didn't seem nearly as beautiful as they had moments ago.

She fists her hands, tucked deep in the pockets of her black trench coat, and she wants to run but dammit, she's _Caroline Forbes_. Neurotic and headstrong and unable to look away until she's confronted the problem head on or talked herself into a plausible denial.

But Klaus is still standing there, presence looming, and looking as alluring as a sculpted marble figurine. Caroline can practically envision that searing stare, burning holes through her skin, and she can only imagine what he now thinks of her now. Pathetic little Caroline - the girl who'd hoped that the most powerful man in the world had truly fallen in love with her.

How dense could she be? Fairytales didn't exist, Caroline knew, but she'd still hoped for someone to come and sweep her off her feet - whether he be a golden prince or a dark solider of the night. She was a romantic at heart, dreamy, and all too vulnerable to the beauties of the world; victim to the hopeful zest of a new day, arising from the horizon all golden and pure. She'd retained, in spite of living _here _of all places, the central beating organ that made her blood run red and bright, like a glittering ruby, with her smiles of new life.

For all her worldly wisdom, Caroline carried in her that vivacious hope, delirious and earth shatteringly bright, within her. She believed in all that the dewdrop fairies sipped on and loved all those she could.

Klaus was so in love with her that it physically hurt him when he realized she had no obligation to return his affection. No real reason to bind herself to him exclusively. That she was young and beautiful and an illumination of all that was lost in eden all those eons ago.

He'd hurt her purposefully and without grace because Klaus was a jealous man; for all his power, he was insecure in the dealings of the heart and frightened, perhaps, of the power one could wield over him. Love was an out of body experience he shared with the golden haired girl and he feared - truly, he did - that it could break him.

Whenever he was with Caroline, Klaus realized he would move heaven and earth just to see a single smile curve on her lips.

When she stepped back, Klaus felt his icy heart shatter. It was always like this with them - passionate to a fault with arguments arising from playful little things that would soon turn into full blown battles, heated on both sides, with neither party willing to back down. Klaus hated her obdurate mindset almost as much as he loved it; she was a woman of her own convictions but he was a man of unbending consent. Together, they were beautiful - like sunlight even - dappled with the residue of two planets colliding.

As Caroline began to turn around, body shifting away from Klaus, he finally feels something inside him _snap _when he sees her lower lip tremble.

"Sweetheart - " he relents and makes the first move, taking one step forward but he's so _unsure_.

What does he _do_? What does he say? Everything he's terrified of is coming to life all at once, like the shadowy monsters of hell suddenly flooding the earthly plane. Klaus can't breath, he feels as if his lungs are constricted and _shit_, he's fucking _scared_ -

"Please," he whispers that one word and she falters, turning back around again to see Klaus's countenance dolorous with woe and pain and thinly suppressed fear. Trace remains of his anger linger but that pain, that physical gnawing, claws away at him until Klaus swears blood is pouring from his heart and onto the marble floor. "Don't walk away from me."

She gives a short, bitter laugh that sounds so unlike her but Klaus knows it is he who has induced it. "Walk away from you? Klaus, I'm not walking away from _anything_. You're pushing me away."

"No!" he panics, voice escalating as he moves, panther like, until they're standing inches away from each other. "I…" he grits his teeth, willing words to fall from his lips as he looks into her pellucid eyes.

He hesitates - briefly - and Caroline gives him the most beautiful smile an artist could ever hope to recreate on a canvas of cyanide.

"Goodbye, Nik." she whispers, leaning onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

Klaus is frozen in place. His limbs are almost imposed to his sides by the will of all those he'd betrayed.

It's only the motion of her curls brushing against his bare shoulder that causes him to pull them flush together again.

"Klaus!" she hisses furiously - balance faltering - and Caroline feels _irritated _as fuck because that was a _beautiful _goodbye - hell, it was fucking movie worthy - and on anyone else, it would have been a loving end.

But no.

No.

She just had to fall in love with Klaus Mikaelson. Unpredictable, alpha male Klaus Mikaelson who holds the world with a gilded marionette grip and who looks at buildings like they're shards of broken glass, ready to be burned.

Caroline falls against him, cheek pressed to his chest, and she feels herself burn with rage and desire and hurt. Attempting to shove herself away, Caroline realizes Klaus's hands are now gripping her hips, that his eyes are begging her not to leave whilst his lips do little more than remain still, full and unmoving.

Caroline absolutely hates him.

"How dare you," she slams a fist against his chest, "you damn selfish _bastard_!" she shrieks, feeling tears prickling at her eyes and knows she has to get away before they fall. There's only so much willpower to be had when trying to leave the man you love. "You let me go right now because you lost all rights to do any of this the moment you let that cheap _doxy _with that shitty rust colored dye job fuck you in a living room I spent _months _designing for you!" Caroline's seething and she lets the anger flow through her, relishing in it.

"You couldn't be bothered to even wait for me for a single _fucking day_? When I told you I busy with my_ job_ you decided that oh why not, Caroline doesn't mean anything. She's just a dumb blond whose been blind enough to be my own personal call girl and who I can screw anytime I want and - " Caroline doesn't even realize her words are coming out slurred together, like she's drunk; that her breathing is becoming more and more erratic as she struggles to keep the heaving sobs at bay. "You…you're a fucking _cad_!"

And Caroline doesn't even care that she's modified a quote from one of her all time favorite movies because that's when her tears finally fall. She tries to turn away from him because fuck it all, she won't allow Klaus to think he's won. To see the pity in his eyes and to hear his false sympathy for a stupid little girl with stupid, stupid dreams.

But his grip is unrelenting as his left arms snakes around her waist, slowly and with such tenderness that Caroline's heart feels as if someone's put a brick on it. She wants to be able to move away from him but the way he's holding her makes her feel so loved and Caroline's already had her heart bruised more times than she can count.

When Klaus's gentle hand tilts her chin up, Caroline refuses to meet his eyes.

"Please, love. Won't you even look at me?" he sounds so utterly desolate that the tears fall down from her cheeks even more rapidly.

"I have never meant, Caroline, in all my life, to make you cry. You were always supposed to live in joy and beauty. To be a queen amongst men and I was meant to be the lucky fool, pardoned by gods I have long since forgotten. I was meant to protect and…and _love _you. Never...never to allow this to happen." his voice is a silent whisper of grief and hope and pure affection that it burns through Caroline's rage like fire through a wheat field.

Cupping her cheek, Klaus leans in closer, his eyes begging. "You told me to leave and I thought you'd finally realized there was something better for you out there. Some_one_. I can't tell you how many nights I've laid awake thinking about how I've given away my heart freely and without reserve to an angel who deserves better than my battered self. I am in love with you, Caroline, and when I see you are under no contract, obligation, or issue to bind yourself to me…to feel anything for me…I experience a pain like none other. Like a stake has pierced through every nerve end and I can't, _Caroline_. I just…." he takes a breath, "it bloody terrifies me, love."

And for a long time, Caroline simply stares at him. The tears on her cheeks are dry. Her eyes are somewhat puffy and her mascara is smudged beyond recognition. Her heart is beating rapidly, so furiously within her chest that Caroline feels like a wall of falling stars.

She doesn't say anything because her voice has suddenly shied away from her lips and when she brings her own hands to his face, he relishes in the touch of her skin but remains rigid. Almost afraid that she would slap him away, snap his neck and leave him for dead.

"Nik…" she barely manages to whisper, burning stardust into his very essence again, "Nik just tell me. Just tell me this one thing, please."

"Anything." he licks his lips, the sting of rejection lacing itself through him again but Klaus relishes in it if it means he can be in her presence for a few minutes more.

"Why _her_?"

Because she was the same woman that Tyler had begged Caroline to support, to take care of on his behalf. This woman was the thing that forced herself and Tyler apart because he put her first - before Caroline. Now, she's utterly terrified that the fucking slut might become first choice for _him _as well.

Klaus doesn't even blink at the question. He doesn't register anything beyond guilt and agony at the realization that his girl believes he could ever look at another woman the way he does her.

"I did it" Klaus whispers, gaze unflinching, "because she was there. Her number was on my phone. I did it because I thought you'd left me. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me; I wanted to burn the memory of you away but all it did was remind me that no one even holds a candle to the light you possess." he confesses.

She blinks.

His answer is not romantic. It is not beautiful. It is blatantly selfish, indulgent, cruel, and so _honest_ that Caroline realizes that Klaus - for all his strength and glory - is just a man. And she, just a woman, faults and mistakes running rampant in each body.

"Are you going to leave me now?" he then asks, voice sounding smaller than Caroline's ever heard it. He's so vulnerable and raw and she suddenly realizes that it is _she _who's witnessing this hidden facet. That for all of Klaus's pride and arrogance, he is willing to set it aside for her. "Love?" she can almost hear the erratic pulsing of his heart but then again, he can probably _feel _hers.

So she shakes her head, a faint smile on her lips as she leans her forehead against his chin before looking up. "We're going to make a lot of mistakes in this relationship. We're going to fight and be awful and say terrible things to each other." his face falls, the grip on her waist slacks, almost like he's been burned. She can see he's trying to muster that Mikaelson frigidness but she grabs his hand, pressing it against her heart. "But I love you, Nik. I love you even with your temper tantrums and your need to be in control all the time." her voice lightens and Klaus's eyes are burning pools of sapphire, locked on her own. "Neither one of us is perfect and neither one of us is going to change. But I think, and maybe this is just me being that little blob of sunshine again…I think we can make each other better. We're...right for each other. Yeah?"

He doesn't say anything for a second and the air around them thickens as the seconds tick by.

Right as Caroline feels her strength faltering, right as she's prepared to turn around and run - Klaus's hands wrap around her waist, lifting her up so that he can give her a bruising, passionate kiss. Breaking away, he looks at Caroline intently, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. "You don't think I need to be fixed or sent to therapy like some bloody lunatic?" his voice is a broken smile and his eyes are sad, afraid she will say _yes_.

But Caroline, in all her spontaneity and blinding surprise, shakes her head and laughs. "Nik, if I'd wanted you to be some kind of washed out white fence, I would, first and foremost, fail at the task and secondly," her voice stresses, "I don't want you to change. I love every part of you, dark and volatile and extreme. I love you because you're you and if I didn't, I would have walked out that door ten minutes ago."

Whatever ancient paddock Klaus had previously locked around his heart slowly finds its weight diminished, and the splendor of love rests on him - fully and without hesitation.

He kisses her, wanting to brandish whatever sins he'd committed in the haven of her untainted self.

* * *

><p>Kol watched as pretty little Isobel Flemming left the office for the day. That rat arsed unit chief of theirs - Damon Salvatore - was still tucked away in the office, burning the midnight oil as his team left, one by one. Bonnie and that other agent, the one who liked to kick down doors - Jeremy Gilbert was it? - had departed two hours ago, playfully bickering with one another in such a way that it made Kol feel sick to his stomach. The other agent, the one who looked like could have easily seduced a woman if he'd only dressed a little more like…well, <em>Kol<em>, rather than a frightened child on picture day, departed forty five minutes later. Meredith Fell with her pretty eyes and perky breasts followed before Isobel emerged.

She was the woman everyone said only got onto the team because she'd slept with Salvatore.

Kol didn't believe it.

If she made it onto the BAU sector of the FBI, there had to be some modicum of talent and drive in her; not even Damon was daft enough to let a brainless beauty onto the team if she didn't have her uses - mentally, that is.

Eyeing Isobel's march over to that dark violet Bentley Flying Spur, Kol supposed she had decent taste in cars - even if his own preferred method of transpiration was the Pagani Huayra. Shaking his head, Kol couldn't help but think how pathetic all her efforts on Enzo had been. The boy was half mad after what Klaus had done to him two years prior; Isobel had simply caught him on a good day.

Reclining back in his seat, Kol watched as the security camera followed Isobel, allowing him to catch one last glimpse of her before the Bentley drove off east, leaving behind an empty parking lot. It took a lot for Kol to remain seated for long but anyone who was mentioned by the great Stefan Salvatore was worth keeping an eye on.

"Isobel Flemming. I don't know how she managed to stick with Damon after all these years." Stefan had said wearily a few months prior as he sat with Kol, Klaus, and Caroline in Nik's sitting room. He'd been holding a glass of scotch and eyeing a paper incredulously as he scanned its contents. "She's working for the BAU. I'm proud of her."

Kol had proceeded to make several lewd comments involving this Flemming girl and her breasts, got threatened by Nik after Caroline had elbowed him, and then left to empty out his dear brother's vintage Bordeaux collection. Sure Kol hadn't paid too much attention after that but the name stuck.

Isobel Flemming. Something about her was…vaguely memorable though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Well, at least not until he'd sought out Damon Salvatore's file after his brother's girl vanished did Kol suddenly remember why the name had sounded so familiar. Little Elena Gilbert with her doe brown eyes had whispered the name with such hatred and distaste that Kol was somewhat surprised - good Elena Gilbert who always said her please and thank you's had labeled Isobel Flemming as "that whore Damon slept with".

Ah well. Kol had toyed around with the brunette until chivalrous Stefan Salvatore came to the rescue and kicked him out, wrapping an arm around Elena. They weren't dating - no, Elena clarified in that weepy little voice of hers, the wound between her and Damon was still 'too fresh'.

Quite frankly, in Kol's humble opinion, she was merely playing hard to get since anyone with eyes could see how madly in love the younger Salvatore was with her - only Elena was still stuck on Damon. The bastard who had left her for dead, toyed around with Lexi, and then went on down to Virginia to become unit chief of the BAU.

Had Kol not loathed the man with every fiber of his being, he'd tip his hat to him in respect. Come to think of it, Kol couldn't really remember _why _he hated Damon - apart from the fact the blue eyed Salvatore had humiliated Kol before the cream of high society seven years ago and. Oh. Well. In Kol's books, that in itself was enough to warrant some hatred until retribution was paid. So until he managed to twist that cocky bastard's arm backwards and up (such as he was doing now by meticulously following the case and waiting for Damon to screw up), the older Salvatore would simply remain on Kol's list (how Game of Thrones, really).

Languidly rising from his leather swivel chair, Kol walked out of the blue lit surveillance room, yanking open the front door, swaggered over to the elevator with every intention on 'bumping' into a Miss Flemming later on. She looked like the type of women who could drink hard liquor and remain somewhat clear in the head so it was down to crazy sex and a few thousand bucks spent on some designer wear to coax out what she knew.

He'd be damned if allowed Damon Salvatore to relish in the glory of finding Klaus Mikaelson's girlfriend (or whatever his brother called his blonde jackrabbit) and if it meant doing the dirty work himself…well, Kol certainly wasn't opposed to sleeping with beautiful silver starlet SSA agents.

Smirking, the youngest male Mikaelson reappeared from the elevator, making his way towards a black and gold living room. While Nik preferred red velvet and ostentatious mahogany, Kol liked it James Bond style - sleek leather with gilded gold etchings. Fact of the matter was, he was also fairly sure that this was the best environment to get a girl hot and bothered. Much better than Nik's stuffy old house up on Mikaelson Valley.

Before Kol could even make it into his closet, a sharp beep went off.

"What do you want?" Kol inquired, sounding more confused than irritated as he put his phone on speaker, tossing it carelessly atop his black silk bed. "Speak up, Marcel, I'm changing."

"Ugh," was the mock retch response from the other end. "Don't tell me that, man! I don't wanna have a vision of you naked in my head!"

Kol shrugged. "Not my problem, mate. I have a date tonight."

"Right, well whatever you plan on doing to your newest victim take a breather, will you? I got something you may wanna see - or, hear." he corrected.

Kol heard a shuffling of papers and a "ow! Shit, Sophie's damn cat.." before Marcel's Cajun drawl was back on line. "I did a little digging - "

"You mean that delicious little secretary of yours did a little digging," he corrected, remembering the wide eyed, caramel haired Davina Claire with her shy smile and flushed cheeks. _Ah, Davina…virgin, most likely, and such a dear girl. _

"Yeah, whatever," Marcel replied lazily, "anyway, I did a little work into this Caroline Forbes's past. You know that Tyler Lockwood fellow she's been dating?"

"You mean the idiot boxer who can't keep anything in his pants? Amusing to watch on the telly, sure, but to spend more than twenty minutes with him _must _be tedious." Kol scoffed, torn between a black button up that he knew drove the girls wild or a sharp charcoal gray that screamed cool, sexy, rich.

It was a tough decision.

"Oy, Marcel? What do you think? Black or gray?" Kol called into the phone.

A disgruntled sigh was his response. "Look, if it wasn't for the fact that Klaus was ready to rip my throat out and the feds down here in NOLA are after me, I wouldn't be doing jack shit for you, man. So fuck off and listen, alright?"

"Goodness, you're touchy today." Kol rolled his eyes, "and to think I thought you brought out my brother's playful side. You, my dear Marcel, probably made him more bloodthirsty than he already is."

"If properly examined, Klaus could be a psychologist's field day." Marcel returned bluntly, "and look, I only got a few more minutes before Sophie comes along, alright?" he snapped, "back to the Lockwood boxer. Davina consulted an old friend back in Virginia - a Vicki Donovan who works as a rehabilitation counselor in Richmond nowadays though I suggest she make a career change considering her past experience with ecstasy and…every other drug." Kol got the distinct impression that had Marcel not been dating Sophie, he would've taken up this Vicki Donovan for a night out on the town just to see how much she could take before she passed out. "Either way, turns out Donovan was Lockwood's ex-girlfriend and since the guy's probably taken one too many punches to the head, he let it slip to her that the only reason they needed to break up was so he could fake date another star to gain publicity. Three guesses on who she is."

"You're telling me that my brother's girl could've left that prat at any time and she chose to stick with him?" Kol couldn't help the laughter that left his throat. For too long Klaus had toted around his high and mighty status, destroying corporations as if they were nothing more than paper dolls left out in the rain. He'd talked on and on about love being the greatest weakness of all and then suddenly, he ups and gets a little blonde distraction who ends up becoming his most prized possession.

And the girl wouldn't leave a fake relationship for him. The irony was too much.

Wheezing another gasp, Kol threw down his shirts and tapped FaceTime before Marcel's disgruntled countenance appeared on screen.

"Stop laughing, you moron!" Marcel chided, rolling his eyes in irritation though Kol swore he saw a trace of a smirk there as well.

This information was literally _perfect _blackmail, Kol realized. He'd be out of Klaus's doghouse by noon if he played his cards right.

"Tell me more, Marcelly. I'm liking this new espionage side of you! Regular nark, really."

"You call me Marcelly one more time and I'll give this information to Salvatore, got it?"

Kol held up his hand in promise. "Oh I swear, all mighty pukka! Inform away!"

Marcel scoffed, plucking up a container of what looked to be whiskey before facing the camera again. "Klaus's girl and Lockwood began their relationship sometime in…oh, I guess early 2012 but they've known each other for a while. According to the Donovan girl, they were neighbors in Lexington and dated during high school. They split up, of course, after she left for Hollywood and he decided to pursue a boxing career in New York but, as fate would have it, they met again and Lockwood's agent - who also happens to be his mother - "

"What? Is he secretly a Kardashian?" Kol chirped, unable to help himself before Marcel bared his teeth in a snarl. "Hey, no need to fall arse over tit. Continue on, Black Widow."

Marcel's eye twitched and the phone blurred a bit before he reappeared, lips downturned. "_Anyway_, the man's mother pushed and pushed until _her _agent - "

"Why don't you just call her Caroline? It's shorter than nicknaming her 'Klaus's girl' and if I know anything, it's that she's a little independent spitfire."

The New Orleans businessman made a face that was almost a pout. "Are you kidding me? Klaus is already on my tail thanks to whoever's framing me and I'm half paranoid that he's tapped my phones and is listening to everything I'm telling you right now! You know he's a possessive bastard - he nearly killed me for taking an extra percentage in his hotel business, do you know what he might do if he heard me acknowledging his girl? I'd be dead in an alleyway, Kol."

The youngest Mikaelson shrugged, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Eh, saves the world trouble and breaks Sophie free of her contract wouldn't you say?"

"I'm hanging up now - "

"No, no, no! Wait, c'mon mate - we had a deal! No need to get shirty over small matters!" Kol's eyes widened innocently as he stuck out his lower lip before a sudden grin appeared. "Or how about I give you a show, eh? I haven't dressed yet and - "

"Kol I swear if you move that camera an inch lower I'll phone Klaus right now and have him drive over to push you out a window himself."

"Touchy," Kol grumbled before plopping on his bed, Isobel momentarily forgotten. "I'll send you a bottle of Dalmore, how's that?"

Marcel pursed his lips, eyes thoughtful before he shook his head. "Make it a 1926 Macallan and I'll consider it."

"B - but _I _own the 1926 Macallan!" Kol near whined, "can't you ask for something else? How about the Dalmore 64 Trinitas? Nik owns all three of 'em - "

"I want good whiskey, not a death warrant, you moron." Marcel deadpanned before rubbing his eyes. "Look, I've got a beautiful lady waiting for me in a _very _thin silk dress and I'm tired. I'll call you tomorrow, alright?"

"No!" Kol interrupted, eyes dark and face serious. "Tell me what you've got _now_, Marcel. That Salvatore twat is burning the midnight oil working away in his office and who knows what he'll actually discover tonight. He may just end up sloshed but I'd rather be two steps ahead than behind. Especially since he's a _Salvatore _of all people." he grimaced as if Damon were the devil himself. "Now I'm asking you as an employer - tell me what you know."

With a hiss of frustration, Marcel disappeared from the phone screen before popping back up, a file in his hands. "Alright, this Forbes girl that Klaus is enamored with? She was employed by Carol Lockwood's event planning company during her senior year of high school. She became _very _close with the Lockwood family until her and the Lockwood boy ended things. From there on, crazy Carol's been keeping tabs on her and Miss Forbes has no idea. If you can nab one of the surveillance men who tail her around, then you'll probably get more information out of him than the profilers of the BAU." he gave Kol a wry smile before frowning. "Can I go now?" Marcel bit out sarcastically but before Kol could reply, the FaceTime was disconnected just as the younger Mikaelson remembered he still needed to hunt down one Isobel Flemming.

Ah well, he supposed, she could take a backseat until tomorrow night because right now, he needed to play nice with big brother Elijah so he could borrow one of Klaus's many henchmen for a little…hide and seek.

Grinning, Kol scooted up further until he reached his silver nightstand. Yanking out a disposable cell, Kol dialed a number he knew by heart, praying that his brother wasn't busy working or worse, with that little Petrova bitch he made the mistake of marrying.

_What a bloody idiot._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Things are moving along but you'll still have to wait a few more chapters before Stefan shows his lovely face. But next chapter, queen bee Rebekah Mikaelson will make her debut! **

**The Damon/Elena/Lexi plot line will be explained more in depth in two chapters or so but (just so I can get a feel) how many of you all are Delena shippers? And if you're not a Delena shipper, who do you prefer Damon with, if anyone at all? (Personally, I think Damon and Stefan need to go on a nice long road trip and discuss their problems before attempting to get with another Petrova ha)**

**Reviews and reactions are appreciated! **


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTE: For the purpose of this story, Damon is 36 years old, Stefan is 33, and Elena is 32. Thereby, Damon would NOT have known Caroline in his youth despite the fact that they grew up in the same town together. By the time Caroline was 17, Damon was 30 so he obviously wouldn't be as knowledgeable about Caroline as he is in TVD canon. **

**ALSO, many reviewers were appalled with the fact that Klaus cheated on Caroline and she forgave him so easily. I have to underscore that the fight built up between Klaus and Caroline that caused Klaus to finally lose it was MUCH more than Caroline's dismissal. In fact, it's a key portion of the story as to why Caroline kept canceling dates with Klaus (which are hard to obtain since Caroline's constantly in the public eye and 'dating' Tyler), not telling him where she was going, and otherwise, completely ignoring him. He's very insecure about his relationship with Caroline so her suddenly deciding to cancel trips, meetings, not answering her phone - it pushes Klaus to believe Caroline doesn't want this relationship with him anymore and since Klaus just LOVES to jump the gun, he did what he did. **

**I hope that cleared things up and I'm really sorry for how long this damn A/N note turned out to be. My apologies! **

* * *

><p><em>"Very well then, better a sane crook than a mad puritan."<em>

_"Who would not be pleased at carrying lamps helpfully through the darkness?"_ - F. Scott Fitzgerald Tender Is The Night

* * *

><p>It's approximately four AM and Damon thinks he's ready to bash his head against the BAU glass door until it shatters. Or until he passes out. Whichever one occurred first.<p>

Sprawled atop the mahogany table, he thinks Rose would most likely kill him if she saw him treating FBI property as his own makeshift bed, but fuck it. Barely suppressing a yawn, Damon's blue eyes were hazy as he held up the manila folder. Never in all his years did he think good, honest Stefan would ever associate himself with the vile poison that was Hollywood. But hey, Damon gave an inward shrug, when one is a writer, one is bound to make some stupid mistakes. His righteous younger brother probably wouldn't be caught dead at a nightclub, partying until the wee hours of the morning - unless he was high on stolen hallucinogens.

Flipping to the next page, Damon groaned aloud when he saw another photograph of Barbie.

_I am really starting to hate this girl. _

Without the constant badgering of his team, Damon had no distractions to fall back on. His mind raced through the clues they'd procured before fixating itself (rather reluctantly) on that book Blondie had managed to pull out before vanishing. _Alright then, she gives us a novel. I can work with that. _

He closes his eyes.

_F. Scott Fitzgerald. There's got to be a connection between author, story, and victim here. She's a 23 year old actress…will be 24 come this October…moved to Hollywood when she was around 18 or 19 to pursue a career in acting. Alright, standard enough. She gets a few small roles and then suddenly becomes buddies with Katherine Pierce, is re-introduced to dear old Stef, and then makes a 'astonishing' debut in Josh Rozsa's film 'The Twenty Ninth Yard'. She's clever enough - or has a damn good agent - to capitalize on her newfound fame and decides the best way to get Hollywood's attention is to hook up with bonehead Tyler Lockwood. _

The dark haired unit chief furrows his brow, trying desperately to recount any memory he has of that name. _Tyler Lockwood_. Why the fuck did it sound so familiar? Lockwood, Lockwood, _Lockwood_.

Wasn't there a company back in Lexington called Lockwood? Damon squints up now, eyes disoriented by the white fluorescent lights as he attempts to recall his youth; a foggy shadow intermingled with booze soaked parties and incessant arguments with his father.

_There's something about that name though…Lockwood...fuck, why did Meredith leave NOW...ugh, didn't dad hire a caterer by that name? Lockwood? For Stefan's graduation, right before he left for Stanford University…smart bastard…I swear, there was an uptight lady with creepy old wrinkly lips. What the fuck was her name? _

_ Cara? _

_ Candice? _

_ Carola? _

_ Did it even begin with a 'C'? _

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Damon allows the memories of the past to wash over him. He remembers Lexington, a small town of historic glory. His father, stern eyed and always disapproving of his eldest son; his mother, with her dark hair and clear blue eyes, whispering that she loved him before death took her.

Damon remembers Stefan, with his shy smile and chubby cheeks at the age of four, quietly asking he could play with Damon's old truck collection. He remembers melted ice cream, stained prom dresses, Barbie and that idiot jock getting caught kissing at Salvatore Ma -

His eyes snap open.

Carol Lockwood. Former president of Lockwood Leisures & Services event planning who up and left to become her son's agent after Tyler decided a boxing career was in his cards. The pushy woman who just about wrecked Lexington's meager social life by refusing to plan anything because little Caroline Sunshine decided a life without Tyler the Angry Buffoon would be more productive.

Shooting upright, Damon all but fell off the table (silently praying the security cameras hadn't caught that accident) and rushed over to the evidence board. If Lockwood and Barbie had been in a previous relationship, then this new one - with Lockwood's mother as his manager - was certainly no accident. Judging by the fine print on Barbie's lavish new lifestyle, it's evident Klaus began paying for her around 2012, which is also the Hollywood debut of Barbie and Lockwood's dating life.

Must've stung, Damon sniggered, eyes scanning the board. This fit right in with Dick Diver and Rosemary Hoyt's timeline from Tender Is The Night.

So Nicole goes and has a breakdown, Diver resumes his relationship with Rosemary, Tommy Barban begins his affair with Nicole…Damon squints, running a hand through his hair. What is he missing?

If Klaus is Diver, Caroline is Rosemary, who the fuck are Nicole and Tommy? But then again, maybe it's not Klaus's life that needs to be examined...this is Caroline's story - Barbie's history is the one that reads like a twisted 1990's pulp fiction screenplay, meaning…

_Caroline_ is Diver, Tyler is Nicole, Klaus is Rosemary (boy, he'd throttle Damon if he heard _that_), then who the fuck was Tommy? As far as Damon (and Meredith's supercomputer knew), Klaus wasn't in a secondary relationship with anyone. If anything, he was married to his work and devoted to making America's 1% even more superior than Carnegie and Morgan raised it up to be.

But fuck - the story still doesn't _fit_. Damon runs a hand through his hair - Dick Diver was a narcissist who was driven to marry Nicole for her money. Her mental instability could have been the case that made his (ultimately failed) psychiatric career.

In turn, Nicole is a troubled young socialite who had an incestuous relationship with her father and consequently, developed a fear of men. They live an extravagant lifestyle paid for by Nicole's money before she ultimately has a mental breakdown after witnessing Abe North murder Jules Peterson. She gets sent to Switzerland, Dick resumes his affair with Rosemary, develops a drinking problem, and finally down spirals after Nicole divorces him to marry Tommy Barban.

_There is absolutely no connection between Klaus, Caroline, and this book at __**all**__. _Damon pulls out a chair, spinning it round so that he was facing the evidence board like a movie goer watched the big screen.

He had to believe Caroline Forbes - in all her neurotic glory - pulled this book for a _reason_. She had to, she couldn't have just done it on a whim and decided hey-o, I'm going to give a fake clue to the cops so they'll NEVER find out who kidnapped me. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

From what Damon saw, Klaus seemed to genuinely love Barbie and certainly not for her money since _he_ was the one funding her lifestyle. And Barbie, in return, seemed to stick by her creepy older man, so there was no way she was going to leave him to be with -

_Oh, holy fuck_ - Damon's eyes grew wide.

He's been looking at this thing all wrong (happens when one is trying to rationalize an irrational situation).

_Caroline _was Nicole, trapped in a relationship with Tyler (just like Nicole, Caroline met Tyler in her youth and must, Damon supposed, have developed a bond with him). She meets and falls for Klaus (Tommy Barban) and is eventually driven into his arms for good after Lockwood has an affair (never mind that their relationship was only on show for cameras).

Barbie literally just gave Damon the tidbit crux that could lead to the assailant; of course he knew Mikaelson's part in all this was probably greater than what he was making it out to be, but the most important thing now was to figure out Caroline's history. And if Blondie could juggle a movie career, prying paparazzi, and a clandestine relationship with a billionaire, then Damon was fairly sure she kept the more unsavory aspects of her life shielded from everyone - even Katherine.

But now - and here was the kicker - who in flaming hell was Tyler Lockwood's Rosemary? What was her connection? Did she even _have _a connection Klaus? To the kidnapper? To the fucking organization who instructed the kidnapper to kidnap Caroline?

Closing his eyes again, Damon leans back in his seat. They'd been looking at this all wrong, examining Caroline's open relationships when they should have been looking at her _hidden_ connections. They'd need to dig through Lockwood's past - certainly a lot easier than looking through high security Klaus Mikaelson's - and then find as much as they could on this Elijah Mikaelson.

Caroline's open relationships weren't going to be helpful to them but Klaus's would - he thrived on mergers and business dealings and in the corporate world, he was bound to have stabbed a partner or two in the back for power and wealth.

Hell, Damon's eyes flickered open, the list of wronged individuals that Fell located was already twenty names long - and this was just based on regular information any old hacker could find.

_Marcel Charles, Galen Vaughn, Richard Lockwood, Jane-Anne Devereaux, Amara Petrova _- yikes. Damon winced at that last name. She _really _got the short end of the stick with Klaus, who tore apart the poor girl to get access to her family's lumber business. Disgraced and impoverished, Amara committed suicide just a week before the Petrova Group signed the contract to be merged with Mikaelson Worldwide Conglomerates, giving Klaus majority ownership over the corporation.

The news was in the headlines for _months_, overshadowing Klaus's takeover of the business (probably just what he'd wanted) and by the time all the fuss over the girl's suicide died down, Petrova Group was gone and replaced with Mikaelson Earth. It was a supposedly eco-friendly lumber and natural resource subsidiary of MWC and was met with rave praise from Green Peace and every other tree loving hippie group.

Damon rolled his eyes. Klaus Mikaelson might be a jackass of the highest caliber but he was a damn good businessman - one that Giuseppe Salvatore may have liked had Klaus not attempted to ruin Salvatore & Sons for his own profit. Either way, Damon didn't really give a fuck what the guy did considering his dear old dad had cut him from his will at the last minute, granting everything to his supposedly 'angelic' second son who was now languishing away in Los Angeles, partying with the likes of Katherine Pierce.

Shaking his head, Damon glanced at the clock on the wall.

_5:02 AM. _Wonderful. He'd probably go home, get about three hours of sleep - if the Rozerem decided to work - before returning to the BAU at 9 AM sharp to continue the case.

Well, at least he could be assured that Luka and Meredith would have an airtight schedule for tomorrow - err, today: dig up anything and everything on Klaus Mikaelson's enemies. If Amara Petrova's friends and disgruntled business partners had decided their puppet's death wasn't worth their fortunes, they would (most likely) go out and try to kidnap Klaus Mikaelson's one weakness.

Besides, Damon noted with an embarrassed scowl, the anniversary of the girl's suicide would be in the next eight days - right down to the very second of Caroline's kidnapping.

"Huh." he blinked, realizing his breakthrough.

If Damon hadn't been half drunk on exhaustion with residual coffee remains floating in his blood system, he would have whooped with joy.

They finally had a name now.

Petrova.

* * *

><p>Alaric Saltzman awoke to fifty new text messages, seventeen voicemails, and three pictures of a half deranged looking Damon Salvatore on his phone.<p>

"What the fuck…?" Alaric rubbed his eyes, opening up the most recent text (sent just three hours ago) reading, _GET UR ASS TO OFFICE ASAP! LOOK UP AMARA PETROVA…FIND ANY GROUPS ASSOCIATED WITH HER…HIERARCHY OR OTHERWISE. COULD BE POTENTIAL YOU-KNOW-WHATS. HURRRRRRY. (btw can you bring me a cup of STARBUCKS espresso & a pastry that'll clog my arteries? I need it since I've been doing all ur bumz work, m'kay? M'KAY?_

So either Damon was on sleep deprivation mode when he texted this (the guy was a real stickler for grammar) or he'd just decided to get as drunk as possible to celebrate the fact that they had no lead.

Eh. Alaric's bet was with the former and he'd excuse Damon's pitiful cries for coffee and a chocolate croissant from Starbucks (the man was much too proud to admit he ate anything from the coffee emporium besides black coffee and plain biscotti) if this Amara Petrova was truly the key to unlocking Caroline Forbes's disappearance.

Rolling out of bed, Alaric walked over to his bathroom to begin washing his face. If he was being honest with himself, something about Amara's name had rubbed him the wrong way as well.

He remembered the girl, oh yes; the pretty young socialite with the big brown-green eyes, sweet smile, and soft spoken voice. She had been too shy for nightclubs and preferred to spend time at children's hospitals.

In all truth, Alaric thought the girl was putting on a show for the press and that the donations and charities she sponsored were all ideas conjured up by her PR team to get Amara in the good graces of the middle class.

It wasn't until her death that Alaric discovered everything she did, she had done on her own free will. The charities, fundraisers, spending weeks with impoverished children in Detroit and Virginia…she'd been a regular godsend from heaven that most everyone had mocked because she hadn't fit the stereotype from the 'rich girl' status quo.

In the end, Amara Petrova had died alone in a cheap motel, hung from a piece of fishing cord after Klaus Mikaelson had single-handedly stolen away her family fortune and company. Needless to say, the funeral catered for Amara by all the charities and organizations she lent her name to were devastated, and several humanitarians of the socialite and Hollywood facet appeared at her modest wake.

Even Katherine Pierce, the party girl who consumed life at a heart stopping rate, had dressed in black, kept her head bowed, and quietly said her amen before Amara Petrova was laid to rest. That aspect had always puzzled Alaric, considering Katherine Pierce hadn't even been on the board of a single one of Amara's charities. Then again, Bastianna Natale - renowned drug abuser and part-time model - had also been there so Alaric couldn't really discriminate.

Still, he decided walking back to his bedroom, double checking Katherine's background _could_ yield something remotely connected to Amara. After all, Natale had gone to the wake because Amara had funded her stint in rehab; maybe the Petrova girl had done something good for Katherine as well. He'd have to smooth talk a few CIA agents to allow Fell to use their database but it'd be well worth it.

Tossing his phone inside his jacket pocket, Alaric stepped out into his kitchen, ready to brew a pot of coffee to deliver to Damon in a fake Starbucks cup. The guy had been drinking Alaric's brew for years and so far, couldn't even tell the difference.

* * *

><p>Katherine Pierce lounged lazily at the Smokescreen Loft, a hazy, blue jazz evening club that was only open to select visitors during daylight hours. Katherine, with her beauty, reputation, and boobs, had been amongst the first that Marcel Charles, the owner of the Smokescreen, had allowed entrance to at 1:00 PM.<p>

"Another - and just leave the bottle, will you?" Katherine's speech was still intact, not a slur to be heard as the polished waiter - decked out in a pressed white waistcoat - scurried over, carefully placing the Montrachet Chardonnay beside her wine glass. Taking pity on him, Katherine shot the poor boy (couldn't be older than 22) a wink before swirling around on the barstool to face the relatively empty lounge.

It'd been around four days (give or take a few hours) since Caroline had been kidnapped and the boneheaded BAU team _still _hadn't found anything. Apart from keeping her locked up in that freezing interrogation room with a gruff SSA agent, they had virtually nothing to go on except a few obscure leads that Katherine had been too exhausted to try and analyze. After all, she'd been sitting in a brilliantly cold metal chair in nothing but her black silk slip. Coming back home hadn't exactly been a party either; her agent had howled in her ear for an hour about how she'd lost the role of Emilie de Winters to that no good slut, Hayley Marshall or whatever the fuck her name was.

Bad enough she was the whore Tyler was cheating on Caroline with, but now that red headed hoe had stolen Katherine's Academy Award making role right out from under her! Fucking _bitch_.

Pouring another generous dose of wine into her glass, Katherine swirled the liquid around, sloshing messily but never once spilling a drop. She wanted to get nice and drunk, go out onto the street (avoiding the police, of course), and see if that really cute -

"Is this seat taken, miss?" a suave, confident voice inquired from behind her.

Katherine rolled her eyes, preparing to snap that she was busy drowning her sorrows for her missing friend when her jaw just about dropped.

_Oh holy shit, he's __**gorgeous**_…the man standing beside her was tall, possibly around six feet or so, and the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His suit was a black three piece tailored Armani and that dove gray tie looked so smooth and perfect for tying her wrists to his mahogany bedposts. _Mmh, _Katherine all but purred, _he is __**exactly **__what I need right now. _

"I was going to tell you no but considering how sober you look right about now, I'll make an exception." Katherine gave him a wink, ruby lacquered lips curled up in a smile as she patted the leather stool next to her. "You look like someone who appreciates good liquor so…"

"I'm afraid it's a bit too early for Chardonnay on my part, miss." the dark eyed Adonis said a little ruefully as he took a seat beside her, hair so coifed and dark that Katherine was a little jealous of how put together he seemed.

Turning to face him again, she gave the mysterious man a Cheshire grin before pulling out a moderately sized flask. "Oh please," she scoffed, "like you're going to drink wine at noon. No, I think you're more of a one PM scotch guy, am I right? Macallan 1964." she tapped the tin, "swiped it from Clooney at an after party a few years ago." she thrust the flask at him, "want some?"

The man's eyes scanned the flask before looking right into Katherine's eyes, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips. He epitomized icy cool but right now, there was a spark of mischief surrounding him and Katherine just _knew _he'd be a beast in bed.

"Oh c'mon, I swear I didn't poison it." she begins to unscrew the flask to prove it to him before his hand rests atop hers, effectively stopping Katherine's movements and sending a pleasant tingling sensation through her arm.

"I do believe it's in bad taste to intermingle scotch and white wine," his hand is cool to the touch and the metal ring he wears on his fourth finger suddenly feels like a brick on top of her hand.

She pulls away, face screwed into what she supposes is a neutral expression. "Oh, sorry. I keep forgetting married men are trained puppets - can't drink or do anything without their wife's permission." she hopped off the stool, prepared to leave and head for the Solstice Lounge before his hand comes down on her wrist, gently tugging her back.

Katherine shoots him a nasty glare. "If you don't let go of me, I will kick my Prada's so far up your ass that come tomorrow, you still won't be able to sit down." she snarls out, irritated that he was so calm and rational and _unmoved_ by her outburst (she also really, _really _hated that mother fucking wedding band).

"Please, miss," he coaxes, voice lulling as sea waves in Maine, "You are indeed under the impression that I am a married man." he raises his eyebrow when Katherine doesn't answer, only scoffing at him before turning away. He slips his hand under her chin, gently tilting her face towards him again before bringing her attention down to the gold band he wore on his ring finger.

It's gilded and simple with a moderately sized black stone in the middle; there's a crest carved atop of it and Katherine can make out an extravagantly carved 'M' as well as…an eagle? A hawk? The lounge's dim lights and incandescent filters barely allow the sun in and she suddenly feels resentful of the intimate ambiance of the room. It makes slapping this mysterious stranger across the face that much harder. "A family ring." he explains when Katherine says nothing. "It belonged to my father and after my elder brother left our family business to pursue medicine in Switzerland, it was passed down to me."

"A family ring." Katherine repeats, wanting to confirm that she wasn't about to hit on a married man (not that she'd have a problem with it, but she actually_ really _likes this guy with his tailored suits and sly smiles).

He nods, small smile turning into a full blown one when Katherine takes a step closer, pout still on her lips. "Well that was a damn fucking run you gave me." she responds, sounding half irritated and half playful. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

He looks appalled by that thought but remains silent, gauging her reaction.

Katherine sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. "You know, my best friend was kidnapped four days ago. I could be on the run from the police." she whispers in mock confidentiality, "you know, just in case those kidnappers want to steal me away and get some ransom money out of my pockets."

"Oh. Oh yes," the man returns, catching onto Katherine's game. "I imagine such an incident is rather jarring to the psyche. Hence, your drinking?"

She smirks. "No, this is a daily occurrence." she clarifies, "me sharing scotch with a complete stranger isn't." she drives home the point that she is not all too pleased with his rejection of her kindly offer and the man, his dark eyes gleaming, gives a soft chuckle.

"I see. Well, I must inform you, miss, that I don't touch liquor unless the moment demands it. However," he adds smilingly, hand still clasped on her wrist, "I do find that Pule, paired with lamb and a plum brandy pleases a palate at noon in a satisfactory manner more situated to your current situation." he raises a brow, eyes intense, and Katherine finds that, for the first time, a man is not intimated by her sultry beauty or childish teasing.

He is, quite simply, a respectable gentleman asking a rather coquettish woman out for a lunch date.

The idea of it is so ludicrous that the only thing to come out of Katherine's mouth is, "you're not doing all this just to make an ass out of me, are you?"

His brow furrows at her statement and for a moment, Katherine is afraid he's missed the pun before reminding herself she doesn't_ need_ to eat thousand dollar cheese with a suit wearing Greek god but -

"You are, by far miss, the most intriguing woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet. My name is Elijah Mikaelson and I would truly be honored to have the honor of your company for dinner this afternoon."

_So he's old school too, _Katherine notes with inward glee as she eyes Elijah speculatively. Caroline may think Katherine had no idea that she'd been flitting around with Klaus Mikaelson but Katherine's a drunk, not an idiot. She'll have to yell at Care the moment she gets found and hey, a date with a hottie who's a Mikaelson may just speed up the snail like progress of the BAU.

Plastering a wide (and genuine) grin on her face, Katherine gives a sharp nod.

"Your phalanx of servants cooking for us or are we doing this restaurant style?" she asks intrigued. She's mainly gone on dinner (or, supper, in his terms) dates with guys and has no idea where they'll go for a _lunch _date but Elijah merely smiles, stepping down from the stool with more grace that he ought to before offering his arm to her.

"I know a little restaurant nearby, actually," he confides with a small smile. "It's owned by my brother, Kol, and he spent millions ensuring that it caters to only those with the choicest of tastes."

She rolls her eyes, "oh please, if you're trying to flatter me then you'll have to know I've already decided you were attractive. Otherwise, I would have walked out that door the second you insinuated my scotch wasn't good enough for you and your 'choice-y' tastes."

He raises a brow, smirk fixed to his mouth. "Ah, and we return to my comment again. Tell me, miss - unless, of course, you do have a name…?" he trails off, seemingly confused and Katherine doesn't know whether she wants to kiss him senselessly or _kick _him senseless but she indulges him (just the one time, she swears).

"It's Katherine. Katherine Pierce." she leans closer, eyes hooded, "and - be honest with me, now - is that gorgeous Rolls Royce Phantom yours?" she's practically drooling at the sight of the sleek armored black car, eyes glowing with anticipation as she stares at the tinted dark glass (supposedly able to withstand the attacks of an AK-47) with an almost loving glee.

Elijah, more amused by her candor and now sudden love for cars, feels that this task of withdrawing information from Miss Pierce will be a job he will both simultaneously love and loathe in equal measure.

* * *

><p><strong>FEBRUARY 27, 2013<strong>

"This is unacceptable. Stock for NKMikaelson has fallen by .72% and, as far as I'm concerned, Businessweek poking their unwanted nose in our current subsidiary situation brings unneeded pressure to Mikaelson Worldwide. The payment you each receive monthly is something of a luxury to even those on the highest rung of the corporation ladder. And here you all are, sitting like dumb ducks as you wait for the implosion to come or - better yet - until Mr. Mikaelson decides you're not worth his time and will see to it that you all are blacklisted from the financial world within the blink of an eye. So I say to you, gentlemen - _get to it_." the cool cadence of one Rebekah Mikaelson echoed throughout the grandiose black and mahogany varnished meeting room in the imitation of Elijah, frigid and unyielding.

Her cool emerald gaze and pin straight blonde hair was a refinement even amongst socialites as she turned her back from the oblong oval table, her stiletto heels hitting the marble floor with measured confidence. The doorman posted outside quickly opened the heavy door, eyes downward. He was a war solider who'd been imprisoned in Afghanistan sometime ago and his tongue had been cut off during that interim. For Nik, this tall, broad shouldered man with the stealthy demeanor and quiet presence was an ideal employee and was paid generously for his silence.

To Rebekah, he was eye candy who opened doors right on time.

"Thank you, John," she smiled at him, teeth white and straight, before pulling out her cell phone. "Nik? It's me. Get out of bed and come to the office right now. We have a Petrova situation on our hands."

Making her way to her oversized, glass paned office, Rebekah couldn't help but wonder what the flying fuck Nik wanted with a _lumber company_. Of all things, really! Natural resources was obviously profitable but an otherwise obscure _foreign_ corporation with one fragile little girl who hardly knew its operational status? Well, she couldn't exactly fault her brother for wanting to make an easy cash grab but a _Petrova_?

Rebekah's lip curled in disgust as she entered her office, the two doorman quickly shutting the oversized black glossed double doors that both acted as an entryway and a wall. Peering out of her formidable floor to ceiling glass wall/window that sat opposite of those same doors, Rebekah closed her eyes.

Hadn't Elijah shamed them enough with his elopement? They'd spent millions keeping the paparazzi, reporters, foreign correspondents, lawyers, boutique owners, eyewitnesses - everyone and anyone - quiet, to ensure that no one knew the noble Elijah Mikaelson had eloped with Tatia Petrova, the drug addicted harlot who Rebekah desired above all else to shove off of the Empire State building.

It was humiliating having to cover that little slut's weekly expenses on items that were more than gaudy and…and actually having to _cater_ to her every whim because that little bitch _knew _they were all bending over backwards to keep this news from becoming public.

For months after, Rebekah had raged, screamed, pouted, and thrown every blunt object she could at Elijah, Nik, and even Kol. She'd had temper tantrums to rival the infamous Klaus 'the Wolf' Mikaelson and the amount of men she'd gone through during that interval was honestly a bit shameful. It'd taken everything MWC had - every snooty Ivy league lawyer - to locate the fine print in Tatia Petrova's inheritance, enabling Nik to swoop in last minute and inform her that should she remain married to Elijah, she would need to severe all ties to the Petrova family. The ignorant little fool had complied, believing Elijah to be so very in love with her, before Nik pulled all investments from Petrova Global, bribed every official to burn the company in every which way, and lowered its stock to worthlessness.

With Tatia locked to legal procedure - excommunicating herself from the Petrova fortune - it all fell on Amara. Rebekah had been thankful that none of Amara's greedy cousins had attempted to battle her for the money, since publicity was the last thing they wanted on that case.

It'd also been a blessing that Tatia and Amara had stayed away from each other during their formative years and with every resource at MWC, Elijah and Tatia's marriage had been throughly buried. All that was left to do was leave Tatia intoxicated in a rumpled bedroom, a few drops of morphine into a pretty boy's drink, and Elijah had discreetly filed for divorce, leaving Tatia penniless. With the threat of the Mikaelson's cutting her allowance as a means of ensuring Tatia's silence on the subject, she had all but disappeared from their lives.

It'd been a heart stopping task keeping _that _information quiet as Elijah knew just about everything that went on at MWC. Nonetheless, she and Nik had done it - they'd done it _together_, as a brother and sister should.

But now - now Nik wanted to buy out Petrova Global and bring it under the MWC fold. It was _absurd_. No doubt it was an idea planted in his head by that silly blonde actress Nik liked keeping around - that Caroline Forbes.

Rebekah bit her lip, green eyes fixed on the tall and proud Chrysler Building. She couldn't exactly say she loathed the perky blonde, but she _could _say she hated her because Caroline Forbes was a man hoarding Hollywood phony. The girl was dating Tyler Lockwood and keeping Nik stored away like some dirty little secret! It was disgraceful! Nik was a _Mikaelson_, a multibillionaire financier who had revolutionized their father's corporation so throughly that few even remembered Mikael Mikaelson's face when they thought of MWC. He was the man every girl dreamed of and here she was, little Caroline Forbes - a working actress -, shamefully hiding him away.

_And Nik is actually indulging her, ugh_. Rebekah's frowned, eyes narrowing. Bad enough that her brother mocked every relationship she'd attempted to string together but the hypocrisy of his own actions made her blood boil. It was only her intense hatred for the Petrova family - Tatia in particular - that kept her from committing corporate espionage.

"You have to learn to become more tolerant, Bekah," Nik had mockingly teased her a few days ago, dressed to the nines for a ritzy private dinner (which that ungrateful little bitch later canceled). "After all, you see how Elijah and myself have dealt with your childish infatuations for more years than acceptable - "

"You've ruined my every relationship, you _arse_!" Rebekah snarled, having marched right up to her smarmy brother with fury tailing her form. "You've always told us that love was a weakness, that we didn't need it. And now here you are, chasing after some common harlot as if she were a goddess among men even though she already has a suitor - "

"Rebekah, I will tell you this once - call Caroline a harlot and I will personally see to it that your trust fund is cut to a microscopic size." Klaus's voice had been pleasant enough, light and lilting, but the dark undercurrent running through the smooth alto timber was enough to indicate his suppressed rage.

"You don't think she's using you for your money?" Rebekah demanded, hands on her hips and willing, then, that her brother would laugh at her; call her a romantic for thinking he could fall in love with someone so _simple_. That this was a mere play, an act of boredom he would soon get over.

But when he turned around, eyes locked with Rebekah's, she had seen nothing but amusement, anger, and a sort of defensive wall that - for once - was not erected for himself but for _her. _

Caroline.

It was enough to make Rebekah feel sick - even now - and she certainly hadn't handled it too well when Nik had informed her that he had every intention of being with Caroline, "for as long as she will have me". Those had been his exact words. It was only the cocky remark of "and I will ensure that she will _always _have me" that made Rebekah feel less militaristic towards Caroline. Nik could be downright lovable when he wanted to be and if their relationship fell apart, Rebekah would march over to that bitch's house and scratch her eyes out with the heel of her Louis Vuitton stilettos. After all the heartache Nik had gone through, he deserved a bit of happiness.

That wasn't to say, Rebekah scowled, that she approved of his ludicrous Petrova Group move. Was he _trying _to ensure the company regained credibility? Buying it out? And for a fetching price that wasn't even a bargain? What the bloody _fuck_?

"I need a Kona Nigari," Rebekah muttered, marching over to her oversized black marble desk and practically smashing her intercom button. "Laura? Get me a bottle of Kona and book me an appointment at the Mandarin spa for tomorrow at five." her sharp, accented voice demanded.

"I'm sorry Miss Rebekah, but the Mandarin is completely booked - "

Rebekah rolled her eyes, pressing down on the intercom again. "It's never 'completely booked' for me. Tell them to _make_ availability and if not, then to kick off one of the clienteles. I'm tired and I have a dinner I don't even want to go to tomorrow so unless they want a lawsuit that will wipe them clean, I suggest they allow the baby sister of their most generous stockholder to have what she wants. Is that clear?"

"Yes, miss." Laura answered quickly, hanging up abruptly as Rebekah smirked.

Placing one hand on her hip, she momentarily considered hiring another secretary but two seemed a little ballsy, especially since she was on thin ice with Nik right now after waking him up from a cuddle session with Caroline. Usually, Rebekah wouldn't have cared but the blonde had become more and more exclusive with her time and Nik's temper was growing shorter and shorter.

It was only a matter of time before her big brother did something remarkably stupid.

Ah well, Rebekah shrugged, taking a seat on her black leather executive chair and swiveling it around to face the grandiose glass wall behind her. She plucked up a remote from the side of her desk, pressing the first button as a flat screen television began to descend down from a slit on the glass roof. She wanted to catch a glimpse of that Lexi character Stefan was so fond of - the one his older brother loathed.

What better way to pass the time before another tedious meeting than with a little digging through Stefan Salvatore's past?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I apologize for the lack of Klaroline (next chapter you all get to read a fun little argument between the duo) but I wanted to get the plot moving and introduce Kat, Elijah, and Rebekah. As you can now see, the Petrova lineage is going to be HUGE in this story and mind, they don't all look alike.**

**And on another note, what kind of name is Hope for Klaus's baby? You'd think with all the cool Nordic names of the Mikaelson family (hell, Niklaus means 'victor of the people') they'd give her an old world name too...like Ylva which means 'female wolf' or Eira meaning 'merciful' if they wanted to go with the whole "let's save Klaus" bit. It just sounds more like something Klaus would name his kid not 'Hope'. Let's face it, if the show wanted to give us some subtext, they should be more SUBTLE. The 'Hope' name hits you in the face like a sledgehammer; just add in the name Destiny and you can send her off to the Bunny Ranch. Ugh. That just really irritates me (The Originals show irritates me because they're trying so hard to give Klaus new love interests when we all know Klaroline is it). **

**Feedback is always appreciated! **


	6. Chapter 6

_"There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still."_ - F. Scott Fitzgerald Tender Is The Night

* * *

><p><strong>JUNE 20, 2012<strong>

"No, you don't fucking get it - "

"I agreed, love! How can I not? This _is_ a bloody catastrophe of the highest caliber! The troubles of - "

"Don't you fucking make fun of me right now, Klaus! As far as I'm concerned this is all your _fault _and you - "

"If I recall I didn't bloody drag you chained and sobbing to the event, sweetheart. You went on your own free will." water dripped down Klaus's naked body as he kneeled on the bed, eyes narrowed at Caroline. His girl was dressed in a mouthwatering pink and silk teddy that Klaus had fully intended stripping her free of before he accidentally mentioned _that _incident. "You know, you _could _have convinced me to leave by means of a more...intimate method." Klaus's smirk was nearly predatory now. Had Caroline not been as livid as she was, the expression would have caused her breath to hitch and knees to weaken.

Now she just really wanted to fucking punch his smug British face.

Scowling, Caroline's perfectly manicured nude nails - long and sharp - tightened around the glass of cold tap water. "You say that again Klaus and I swear to god I will - "

"Will what? Throw the Harry Winston's into the sea? Oh dear, whatever will the African children do without those gems?" he returned sarcastically.

"YOU RUINED MY CHARITY EVENT YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Caroline snarled, dumping the glass of water into Klaus's face. She had to admit, it was a pleasant sight witnessing the almighty Klaus Mikaelson sputter in shock as cold tap water momentarily choked him.

With water dribbling down his chin (Caroline ignored how utterly adorable he looked - like a wet lion, really) Klaus reached out to grab her wrist, smirk still fixed on that complacent countenance of his.

"No! No - you don't get to fucking touch me, you inconsiderate bastard! Get your hands off of - "

"Now, now sweetheart - we shouldn't be so hasty with what we say, hm?" Klaus was now holding Caroline to his chest, her cheek pressed against his damp clavicle as he peered down at her with amused - if not slightly irritated - cobalt eyes. Smoothing back a rumpled curl, Klaus gave her a wink upon seeing her head tilt back in satisfaction before Caroline's perfectly manicured hand shot out in an attempt to claw his eyeball from its socket. "Sweetheart." he growled, pressing her body closer to his damp chest. "Love - "

"Oh don't you pet name me, Klaus Mikaelson." Caroline snorted, endeavoring to give him a hard shove but finding his body too im-fucking-movable. "I spent _three months _planning this charity dinner. I personally designed everything - right down to what animal shape the napkins would be folded into. I spent two and a half hours a day for a _month_ straight on the phone with Beyonce's agent in order to get her to perform one fucking song and I personalized each invitation - all three hundred and seven of them - to be sent out to these Hollywood brats with more free time than a Roman emperor and just when I think everything's going so well, you bloody show up!" she shrieks, ignoring the upturn of his lips at her casual use of British slang. "You fucking go up to Tyler and make 'small talk' and then you decide to throw yourself around like some patron for the lost cause when everybody KNOWS you _hate _these types of gatherings and fucking hell - the press nicknamed you the Big Bad for a _reason_! You can't just show up to a charity event unannounced and try to finger me under the table!" Caroline finally shouted, voice pitching in aggregation, irritation, and affection that she attempted to masquerade as fury.

With a new surge of energy, Caroline managed to roll out of Klaus's lap and onto the floor, completely ignoring how undignified she appeared lying in a heap on the Persian carpet.

Glowering at a smirking Klaus, Caroline resisted the urge to scratch his eyes out (again) as she scowled, skin flushed with exertion and anger. "Do you realize you could've blown _EVERYTHING_?" she snaps, "what kind of move were you fucking trying to pull, you stage hog?" her voice is quieter than before, slightly calmer and filled with more curiosity than outright rage as she sits down there, looking up at him. After all, he's allowed her to finish her rant with minimal interruptions.

By now, Klaus has pulled himself into a seated position, leaning against the headboard of their shared bed, eyes fixed on the hand painted ceiling Caroline had insisted on commissioning.

"Did you know that I only step foot in this room once a month?" Klaus suddenly says, cockiness absent from his smooth cadence.

Caroline frowned.

Headstrong and egotistical, Klaus had never been one to avoid a subject so..._obviously_ and with such a lack of tact.

She furrows her eyebrows. "Um, no?" she looks around the cream colored room, the morning light gently sprawling its way across the cashmere floors - a perfect balance of Valhalla and neutral Malibu. She really can't think of anything wrong with it. "Is it the marble Venus there?" she points, her honest curiosity so innocently endearing without that harsh vexation intermingling itself in her sweet voice. "Cause if it is the Venus then I'm going to have to tell you to suck it up - "

"Love, we only see each other once a _month_. And now that you've agreed to this monstrous arrangement with that idiot _Lockwood _- " he spits his name out as if it's poison " - you expect me to go about our lives as if nothing has changed? You met me first, Caroline. _We _came first." his voice is detached and heavy and filled with...sadness? Longing?

His emotions had always been one giant mood swing and quite honestly, Caroline wasn't quite sure where they stood at this point.

"Nik, you know Tyler and I have been friends since I was _four_. We grew up together and this mock relationship is the best way to test the waters, you know? Get a feel for the Hollywood lifestyle. Carol said it'd really help launch our careers and - "

Klaus snorted at that statement, eyes still locked on the painted careening angel. "Is that so? And Carol Lockwood has no other intentions than to set the both of you on careers of equal measure despite the fact that the bumbling boxer you now call your _boyfriend _is her bloody son?" he crosses his arms, countenance blank. "How very noble of her. She ought to be considered Elijah's long lost twin sister."

Caroline frowns, knowing full well that Klaus never did well with sharing and loathed just about any male she ever came into contact with - save Stefan, and even then there was some tension.

"This is the best career move I can make right now. With Tyler's recent championship, he has a ton of exposure going for him and if my name is linked with his, I'll become better known in the brawl bars of the male populace." she gives him a soft smile that Klaus catches out of the corner of his eye. "You know I'm trying to expand my acting roles - I don't want to play the rich, spoiled girl forever and in Hollywood they say talent is only 30% of your career. You have to have a kick ass agent and a PR team sent from heaven - or hell - " she shrugs, " - to really make it and - "

"I can get you any role you want, Caroline." Klaus cuts in, clearly annoyed at having to point out a detail he's already repeated. "All these agents, they're all employed under MWC in some shape, way, or form. One phone call, sweetheart, and you can have any part you desire."

She huffs indigently at that as she rises from the floor, forcing her way into Klaus's firmly crossed arms. "Don't be fucking stupid, Nik. I'm not going to use your name to my benefit and become another girl whose flexibility and vitality becomes more well known than her screen credits." she mutters under her breath, "I've gotten this far by myself and I want to win the Academy Award on _my_ terms, Nik. Not yours."

"But it wouldn't be on my terms, love." he argues, finally turning to face her, "think of it as utilizing your resources. You said it yourself, an agent and PR team help you more than talent does - why not use your highly reputed _lover_," he practically purrs that word out, "to help you step forward in the limelight? Come now, sweetheart. I know you don't want me for my money - bloody hell, this relationship would have turned out quite differently had you - "

"I'm not some kind of gold digger, Nik!" she interrupts, exasperated. "I'm already blonde and blue eyed, don't make me add 'stereotypical whore' onto that checklist too! Why can't you just understand that I need to do this for me - "

"You need to date Tyler Lockwood for _you_?" his voice is still playful but one glance at his hard cobalt eyes, the pressed downturn of his lips and the sudden rigid form of his body, and Caroline _knows _it's going to be hell for the next hour or so.

"Nik, this isn't about me dating Tyler Lockwood - it was his mother's idea and my publicist agreed to it! This entire scam is about targeting new audiences for 'Bloodhound' - a movie _you_ encouraged me to audition for." she points out, hand caressing his chest in hopes of soothing his irrational jealousy, "Klaus, I want to do something different - a new role, a darker role. I mean, I love playing the romantic, sassy lead and having 40 year old women and 70 year old men who are incapable of escaping their wives watch me in the theater, but...I also want to, you know, be more well known with the twenty year old age group. This doesn't have anything to do with me loving Tyler - fuck, you and I both know that ship is long gone - but I want to prove to everyone that I _can _act. That I'm not…I'm not just another blonde in a sea of hundreds with a semi-decent looking face." she says this last part quietly, though there is no shame in her voice - only acknowledgment at the false stereotype narrow-minded humans tended to grant unto one another.

The determination Klaus hears in her voice is enough to send a shockwave of pride through his veins. How magnificent his girl has grown! From a beauty who attempted to rectify every false belief to one who wholeheartedly declared that so long as she was content with granting herself the satisfactory proof she needed to remain happy, then all others were insolent voices whose opinions mattered not. Caroline had grown into herself and Klaus supposed there was a reason why Caroline wanted to solidify that milestone with cellophane and director's cuts.

Sighing, the business magnate wound his arm around Caroline's waist, pulling her atop of him.

"I don't like sharing." he finally admits, voice rough as he gazes at Caroline, expression tender. "And I don't like Tyler Lockwood. Say the word, sweetheart, and I'll have him shipped to South Africa to work on MWC's diamond mines with no question from any airport detainee as to why he has a muzzle on."

The last bit causes Caroline to laugh, though she immediately feels guilty. Sure, Tyler might be a moronic asshole but she doesn't want him shipped off to another _continent_.

Just managing to wrestle her way out of Klaus's grip, Caroline crosses her legs as her knee brushes against his stomach. "Klaus, we're not sending Tyler to South Africa and we are certainly _not _going to muzzle him. You really put the extra mile in your metaphors, don't you?"

He shrugs. "I hardly consider a bit of theatrical decoration taking it 'too far'." he corrects but his voice is still low and his face is most certainly not happy. "How long with this farce go on?"

"I…don't know," Caroline confesses before biting her tongue. "But - "

"Then I won't allow it."

Her eyes flash. "Please don't tell me you're going to go all underground mafia man on me again." she says warily.

"This is no joke, sweetheart. I refuse to allow you to be dangled around like some common puppet for the sake of a bit of press. You want paparazzi? I'll telephone Blake over at Star Magazine and you'll have your picture scattered around all of North America by tomorrow."

_Fuck, shit Nik -_

Caroline wants to pick up a pillow and scream into it because doesn't Klaus get it? She doesn't want _him _to get the press for her, she doesn't want _him _to get the movie roles for her - she wants to do it herself. She's capable, she _knows _that, but she also knows just how protective Klaus can be. For a man whose father rarely showed him any affection, Klaus certainly knew how to turn up the doting boyfriend dial to the point of irritation.

"You're not going to do anything." Caroline clarifies, voice matter-of-fact as she crosses her arms. "You're going to go to work and make millions and be more of a rich bastard than you already are. I'm going to read my scripts and play nice with the interviewees and then we're going to come back here and have mind blowing sex like we always do."

His lip twitches and Caroline inwardly cheers that she's gotten him past his brooding point but when he opens his mouth, she pounces on him.

Their lips meet and their tongues fight, Caroline is sprawled atop of Klaus whose expert fingers - rough from childhood tree climbing and sport - slip under her negligee. Caroline moans when his hands nimbly climb up her waist, to her breasts, barely even grazing them before they reach the straps on her shoulders. He pushes them down and in a flourish, Caroline finds herself nude in his arms, that scrap of silk and lace thrown into a corner as Klaus worships her with his eyes.

"Nik - "

"We're not done here," he returns smoothly, the glare in his eyes telling Caroline they are in no way finished with her Tyler Lockwood conundrum. "A temporary fix." he murmurs, pressing his mouth to her collarbone, "I still have a proposition to disentangle you from Lockwood."

Caroline throws her head back as Klaus's tongue - hot and demanding - presses onto her naked skin.

He tastes warm vanilla and a hot, heady spice that makes him feel warm and content; a hazy indulgence that Klaus greedily consumes as his hands hoist her up, allowing Caroline's lithe legs to straddle his waist.

"Caroline - "

"Shut up, Nik."

And for once, she secretly smiles, he does.

* * *

><p>It's impossible for Stefan to tell whether or not he'd prefer strangling himself to death (if that were physically possible) or shooting himself in the face (very possible). The fact of the matter was, if he had to sit here, in this damn parlor room, listening to graduate students ramble on and on about their preconceived textbook opinions of his novel, he would honestly rather commit mass murder than endure it for a minute.<p>

_Go Stefan, it'll be a great publicity event! Just think of it - your novel could be studied as the next great literary concept! Harvard University wants to meet with you to discuss the possibility of your book becoming an actual course - don't roll your eyes at me, Salvatore! This is a great idea and you know it! _Elena had cheered him on two months prior, her brown eyes bright with good cheer and at that moment, Stefan had felt a sharp sense of regret in making Elena is agent.

All in all, Stefan wanted to claw his eyes out because he knew, he fucking _knew_, he wouldn't be able to deny any request Elena made of him - no matter how improbable or stupid. He was very much in love with her and as a writer, he couldn't afford to disillusion himself quite yet; his whole life had been built upon the true "writer's brood" as Rebekah had dubbed it, and it'd worked fairly well as a source of inspiration.

Of course, the constant heartache and bitter anguish was a heavy price to pay, but Stefan couldn't deny the pride he felt each day in knowing he wouldn't have to touch a penny of his grandiose trust fund. That he had indeed proved to the proud Giuseppe Salvatore a writer _could _be a success.

"…and as such, I fully believe that the premise of the cultural revolution - indicative of Richard's bon vivre attitude - was key in understanding the lucrative - "

_Brrrring! Brrrring! Brrrring! _

Without warning, Stefan launched himself off of the hand sewn embroidered silk couch and towards the 20th century style telephone. He had never felt so grateful to Harvard's incessant need in keeping antiques around as much as he did in this very moment.

"Hello?" Stefan called into the earpiece, somewhat breathless and completely uncaring to the death glares he was receiving from a few disgruntled graduate students. "This is Stefan Salvatore," he added when there was no response.

"Stefan?" a hesitant voice finally wavered out, "what - what are you doing at _Harvard_?"

He frowned. "Who is this?" he didn't recognize the distinctly female warble coming from the other line but, he supposed, the phone's age had something to do with that. "Hello - "

"It's _me_." the voice huffed back, sounding more annoyed and with a sharp, sarcastic edge that he nearly laughed out loud at.

"Bonnie?" Stefan's face split into a grin, "I can't believe you're calling me while on duty."

She snorted and Stefan could just picture the petite agent rolling her eyes, stance akimbo as she clutched at that beat up old cellphone of hers. "Oh please, Stefan. You know this phone call wasn't intended for you."

"Do I now? What connections do you have to Harvard?"

"Oh gee, I dunno - maybe my grandmother?" she returned sarcastically.

Stefan felt the loll of stupidity wash over him - of course. Sassy and sharp Sheila Bennett who taught sociology at the William James Hall on Kirkland Street. How could he forget her?

"Sorry, Bonnie, it's just been a hectic couple of days." he confessed, "after flying in from San Francisco, I've just been at the lecture hall or doing these round group discussion sessions." he barely managed to keep the distaste from his voice but judging by the way that Sweater Vest and Armani Loafer were now actively highlighting lines in their books, Stefan figured he had about twenty minutes before Gold Rolex began to complain. "I'm leaving Cambridge in a couple of days."

"Well, that's great Stef but when I said I didn't call for you, I really do mean I didn't call for you. It's not like in the movies where the girl just rings someone up and it turns out to be the person they've been longing to talk to for years."

"Are you flirting with me, Bennett?" he teased, feeling strangely lighthearted at the sound of Bonnie's voice. Perhaps it was because she sounded genuine, rather than the half bored graduate students he received who wanted nothing to do with Stefan, but were forced by convention to pretend they knew everything about everything - including his book.

Shaking his head at Bonnie's annoyed huff, he relented. "Alright, sorry to hold you up, Bon. Who do you need?" he glanced back at a few of the boys to see if Bonnie's name sounded familiar, but none of them even looked up (apart from Gold Rolex, but he was more or less giving Stefan the stink eye at this point).

"I was actually calling to see if Professor Shane was there. Atticus Shane. He teaches medieval studies and was a really good friend - or, associate - of Gram's." she confessed, "she told me that he'd be at the Houghton Library and I tried their line like seventy times but apparently there's just really shitty cell reception there."

Stefan chuckled. "More like they're too lazy to walk in between the shelves to actually reach the landlines."

"They still have landlines?"

"Bonnie, Houghton is a library that specializes in ancient text. I think it'd ruin the whole old world vibe if they had iPhones everywhere."

She chuckled, "my apologies, oh great professor of literature. But, _do_ you know where Shane is?"

"If I tell you do I get to become an honorary SSA agent?" he asked, trying to recollect the old pictures of the BAU bullpen he'd once seen on display at UVA.

"Well, if you want to be close to Damon 24/7 then yeah, sure."

Stefan didn't respond to that.

In truth, he and Damon hadn't spoken in _years_ - not since his brother had broken Elena's heart and vanished to god knows where. Hell, Stefan didn't even know Damon had joined the BAU until three years ago when the San Francisco Chronicle published a front page article on him. Somehow, Damon's team had managed to capture Tessa Qetsiyah, the psychotic scream queen of Hollywood who'd gone off her rocker and begun murdering female prostitutes in LA. Since then, Stefan had wanted to contact his brother for the sake of Elena's sanity but then again, they had parted ways on rather rocky terms and Stefan didn't exactly have it in him to do another blow by blow confrontation with his older brother.

"Um - Stef? You still there?" Bonnie's concerned voice wavered through once more, causing Stefan to give a small smile at the ridiculous contraption he was still talking through.

"Yeah, I'm fine. The phone here is just an antique from the 1920's or - " he turned when he felt someone poke him in the back.

It was Sweater Vest.

He held up a scrap piece of paper with _1896_ scrawled on it before ducking his head, attention turned to his textbook once more.

"Uh - yeah, it's an old 1896 phone." Stefan returned, inwardly chuckling at the boy's antics. He was a brilliant history major who suffered from mild autism that was exasperated by a manic depressive mother and absent father.

Bonnie's laughter shook him out of his revere. "No problem, Stef." he could hear her smile. "Look, I know I sound like a conceited bitch right now but could you please try and find Professor Shane for me? Damon's been up my ass for the past three hours and honestly, I can't even blame him." she sighed, the heaviness and disappointment of the truth sinking into her tone. "This case Stefan…"

"What are you working on?" he inquired, genuinely curious. Bonnie had always been fairly laid-back about most things - even criminal cases - so hearing her sudden frustration was both surprising and disconcerting.

"Have you heard of an actress by the name of Caroline Forbes?" she finally inquired after a brief pause.

Stefan felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on top of his head. "Yeah is she uh, the blonde one in that movie 'Rosewood Drive'? Blue eyes, bright smile?"

"Yeah, that's her." Bonnie affirmed, "she was kidnapped about four days ago from her apartment when LAPD called us in. It's…I can't give away any details over the phone, Stef, but honestly, Damon is up the wall in bureaucracy right now and the freakishly clean state of this Caroline Forbes's penthouse gives way to serious concern."

_Oh, that's Caroline_, Stefan wanted to retort but held his tongue. It wouldn't do to suddenly blare out anything with all these loudmouth grad students sitting behind him. "You don't say?" was the pathetic response he finally settled on, his fake surprise sounding false to his own ears.

"Yeah. So, look, if you see Professor Shane around anywhere just tell him to give me a call, alright? He has my phone number from Gram's last Christmas party."

Stefan gave a nod. "Will do, Bon. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Stefan."

He hung up, poker faced, before turning around to face his wide eyed graduate students again.

"Alright," he ran a hand down his face before shaking his head. "Discussion's over for today."

"What are you talking about? We have half an hour left!" Gold Rolex protested snottily, crossing his arms in a show of superiority as he attempted to meet Stefan's dark eyes. "We _would _have had forty five before that disastrous interruption."

_Oh shut the fuck up. _

"You're right." Stefan gamely agreed, surprising everyone in the room when he took a seat on that embroidered couch again. "We do have half an hour left. But I also know that two of you here are failing Professor Atticus Shane's medieval literature class so I'm going to make an exception. First one to find me Professor Shane will pass my course and maybe I'll talk to him on your behalf."

The stampede of hand sewn Italian loafers hitting polished mahogany floorboards was deafening as all five students filed out of the room, with several insisting that Professor Shane was seated at the Mahindra Humanities Center, sipping strangely spiced tea while his TA's graded student papers.

Only Sweater Vest remained.

Stefan debated on whether or not to call him out for still being here but the boy beat him to the punch.

"Erm, I'm…uh, I'm not failing Professor Shane's class." he said uncomfortably, words conjoined together shakily and hesitantly - as if he were waiting for a curtain call.

"Right." Stefan nodded. "You don't look like the type of student who would."

He returned Stefan's easy smile with a shy one of his own. "I'm uh, I'm Lucas. Lucas Parker." he frowned, pushing his wide framed glasses up his nose as he blinked rapidly. "I…I heard you on the phone. I - I didn't mean to pry, though!" he quickly rectified, squirming under Stefan's gaze before ducking his head. "Um. I have um, really good hearing."

Stefan raised a brow. "Is that a genus level gift you were born with or…?"

"Uh. No. Um, my sister used to lock me in a closet when I was a kid in order to annoy our dad. So I developed really good hearing um, you know just to be able to tell when our dad was going to lose it and uh, come out of the closet. Not in a uh, sexual sense." he added, voice dignified, though Stefan swore there was a bite of sarcasm in there.

_Kid's not half bad_, he decided.

"Well, Lucas - "

"Luke. You - you can just call me Luke." he said jerkily, blinking again. "I…can take you to Professor Shane, if you want. He's usually down at the Square. Um. He doesn't like lecture halls much. Or classrooms in general, really."

"Oh. Well, thank you." Stefan smiled, figuring it couldn't hurt to be a little nicer to the guy. "You did really well in your interpretation of Rosette and Madame Beauchaud's relationship, by the way. A lot better than some people." he added, a hint of distaste in his voice as Luke's face immediately lit up, his wide blue eyes becoming huge behind the thick frame of his glasses.

"Thank you!" he beamed before remembering himself and quickly averting his gaze. "I read the book on the T while going to your first lecture, actually. I thought the genuine hurt felt by Maximilian and his brother related better to the emotional instability of Diana rather than the cultural explosion of the Victorian era as Theodore was saying earlier."

_So that's Gold Rolex's name, _Stefan smirked before giving a nod of thanks to Luke before frowning.

"Wait. There's only one route that the T takes to get here and that's only about twelve minutes long." he blinked. "You read my entire book in twelve minutes?" Stefan asked incredulous as Luke's cheeks heated up.

"Um. Well…I - I just…I have this thing where I can read um, 19,527 words a minute. So I just…" he trailed off, looking almost…ashamed at his ability as he began to squirm, clasping his hands together and fiddling with his thumbs. "Sorry - I'll just take you - "

"No, wait." Stefan stopped him, curious now. "How old are you?"

Luke's face became redder than a New England apple at that question. "I'm…17." he muttered quietly.

17.

This boy was a genius personified if he was 17 years old and going to Harvard University as a _graduate student_. By god, Stefan had absolutely no idea why poor Luke looked as if he were being gutted whenever his talents were mentioned but Stefan was determined to get to the bottom of it. After all, the blonde haired boy seemed like the only decent human being he'd encountered during his week long residency at the college and he'd be damned if he allowed the boy's insecurity to get in the way of his brilliance.

"So, tell me, Luke - do you have any siblings?" Stefan inquired conversationally as the two began to walk out of the antiqued parlor of Sever Hall.

Luke, with his eyes downcast, looked up briefly to give him a small smile. "Yeah. I've uh, I've got a couple." when Stefan didn't respond, Luke gave a small sigh. "older brother and older sister as well as my twin sister, Olivia."

"Harvard your parents alma mater?"

"Oh, no." he shook his head, smiling. "No, uh Kai went to Duke and Josette - my older sister - went to Johns Hopkins. She's a doctor in New York now." he explained, "Liv's still in high school and living with our parents in Virginia."

"Really? Virginia? I was born there."

Luke's eyes widened, "Lexington?" he inquired innocently, brow raised.

Stefan could hear Damon laughing at him at this point. Of course the boy was from _Lexington_.

* * *

><p>"Fell, do you have that timeline yet?" Damon shouted, bursting into Meredith's tidy blue and silver office.<p>

"Close the door!" she snapped, eyes never leaving her computer screen. "It's coming out right now. This Mikaelson guy is more paranoid than the president when it comes to dealing with anything even remotely associated with him. I swear, it'd be easier to find Clinton's diary entry than attempting to locate Klaus Mikaelson's mergers."

Damon rolled his eyes. _Go figure. _

"_But_, as paranoid as he is, he is no match for the CIA's white collar database and my supercomputer." Meredith grinned, fingers pressing a few keys before a coded document popped onto her screen.

"What the - "

"Hold on a second, boss man." Meredith rolled her eyes as a good 'control' and whatever other buttons she pressed enabled the scrambled letters to translate into English.

"Move over." Damon pushed Meredith's cushy pink and purple swivel chair away, eyes squinting as he scanned the timeline.

_Huh._

Barsabbas S.S.V. Lines was the only company on the entire list to do business with MWC two times. The others had at least a slew of other mergers, indictions, fouls, whatever it was Elijah Mikaelson could drum up. But this Barsabbas...

"Fell, who owns Barsabbas S.S.V. Lines?"

The brunette huffed, scooting her chair closer to her secondary computer. "Barsabbas S.S.V. Lines...oh. It's a Greek based shipping company that's been around since...oh wow - 1524. It opened its American base in 1862, during the American civil war..."

"Okay great history lesson, Fell but I said - "

"I know what you said." Meredith snapped, frustrated now. "If you think Klaus Mikaelson is the only big business magnate to protect his personal information then you're dead wrong. These big corporations - these giants amongst men - look, Damon, they have hundreds of..._serfs _working under them. They don't want the public to know who they are. Lou Pai got off scot free during the Enron scandal because he kept his web airtight."

The SSA agent scowled, lips downturned. "Then is there _any_ fucking thing you can tell me about this?" he growled, frustrated at another potential dead end.

"Sure." Meredith shoved Damon aside, eyes fixed intently on her screens. "I can tell you that Barsabbas and MWC have done business more times than sheet indicates. Look here - the stock for MWC correlates in a polar form to Barsabbas. Barsabbas goes up, MWC goes down - it's almost as if these two were competing with each other." she blinks, "like...two top dogs trying to vie for the number one spot."

"So what caused that huge sag?" Damon pointed at the 2009 lapse where Barsabbas dropped a record 2.46% in stock. "It looks as if the top dog there decided retirement was necessary."

_And MWC fucking **soared**_.

Meredith fixed her glasses, squinting at the small latch Damon indicated. "Well that's...funny..." she frowned. "They lapse and..."

"They lapse in 2009, completely fall to pieces while MWC rakes in the glory. Their number one competitor sidelines to the lay way." Damon mutters under his breath, eyes transfixed to the screen.

The technical analyst frowns. "Sir?" she looks up, surprised at Damon's focused countenance. "Sir? Are you - "

"Things go on like that for quite some time...up until 2012 when Barsabbas begins to float its way back up to recovery. Never a full recovery though." the unit chief crosses his arms, expression unreadable. "So either this chief executive of Barsabbas suffered a personal tragedy that was great enough to cause him to put his own corporation to the side or...MWC tampered with information. Cooked its books."

"That's not physically possible without corporate espionage, sir." Meredith quickly jumped in. "They would have to spend at least five years trying to get the proper information to manipulate, and if that happened, I could cyber track them - "

"So something happened to this unknown president of Barsabbas..." Damon leaned into the screen again. "And it tries to communicate with MWC in 2012. June 19, 2012. Fell, what's significant that occurred on June 19, 2012?"

"Uh," Meredith's slim fingers quickly danced on the keys, attempting to usurp any possible information. "Nothing in the corporate world. I mean...the biggest thing that happened was some charity event that MWC's reclusive Klaus Mikaelson attended." her eyes widened as Damon smirked.

"Surprise, surprise. The impoverished children's fund heralded by none other than Caroline Forbes." he frowned. "Wait. That's not right."

Meredith looked up. "If the computer says it, it's right." she snaps.

"Klaus is a lot of things but he's not stupid. He wouldn't have blatantly disregarded protocol like that. I mean, this guy keeps himself under lock and key at all times. Even an idiot would be able to pick up on this - the recluse coming out of his cave for a charity event hosted by a Hollywood actress? You don't need to be the in BAU to figure out that something must be going on between the two."

"So...?"

"So," Damon pursed his lips, almost as if he were carefully selecting his next words. "It's very possible that this chief executive of Barsabbas saw Klaus, noticed his attention and the irregularity of his outing, and put two and two together. There's no possible way that Barsabbas stock would have fallen so sharply in 2009 unless its puppet master suddenly found himself entangled in a matter that was of greater importance to him and him alone." he turned his eyes to Meredith. "Fell, what happened in 2009 that was so great it overshadowed MWC's actions that were later found out in early 2010?"

Meredith's jaw dropped open. "The suicide of Amara Petrova...followed by news that Petrova Group was going under MWC." she managed, realization dawning.

Damon nodded, jaw clenched.

"This guy - the president of Barsabbas, let's call him Sabbas - " he frowned, "must have seen Klaus's connection to Caroline and realized that he's found a weakness. If Sabbas and Amara Petrova were at all connected, her death would have killed him. Maybe they're cousins, relatives - I don't know," Damon felt his adrenaline pumping, "but what I do know is that none of this could have happened by coincidence alone. Klaus may have pulled the strings in his favor but it didn't go unnoticed by Sabbas."

Meredith frowned. "So are you saying that Caroline's kidnapping could be connected to Barsabbas S.S.V.?"

"No. I'm saying that her kidnapping is _directly_ correlated to Barsabbas. We just need to figure out who Sabbas is, what Klaus did, and how the Petrova's play into this."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Everything's coming together...Barsabbas, Petrova, Caroline, MWC...it's all connected. Looks like our Damon's a smart cookie here, eh? Anyone wanna take a guess at who 'Sabbas' is? **

**Stefan's in this chappie! I know I said I wouldn't put him in for another two chapters but ah well, what can you do? Next chapter will have Elena and I'm really at a crossroads now. Originally, I intended to do a classic Delena pairing but after going back and forth, I'm not sure what to do with her right now. I feel like Elena really needs to find herself before committing to a relationship...**

**Drop me a review to tell me how I'm doing! This is literally the longest Klaroline story I've written so far!**


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